


Curse of the Dawn

by rosebriarr



Series: ACoTaR Rewrite [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACoTaR Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Faeries can't lie, Feyre's mother lives, Gen, I just don't want the plot to revolve around soulmates, Multiple Pov, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rhysand is only a prince for now not a high lord, Rhysand's sister lives, Sorry guys, his sister is high lady, no mating bond, probably should have tagged that before, there will still be romance though I promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 06:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23990068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosebriarr/pseuds/rosebriarr
Summary: ACoTaR rewrite. Feyre Archeron's mother disappeared when she was 8 years old. The servants said she went out for a walk in the woods and never came home. Feyre and her sisters have always known deep down what it was that took her away.  Their mother used to tell them stories every night of the faeries, north of the wall, in Prythian, but after that night Feyre could not stand stories of the Fair Folk. When their family fell from wealth, Feyre and all of her sisters had to contribute to keeping them alive. Feyre went hunting in the forest where her mother had been killed. She only killed animals of course, but one full moon night, she sees a wolf that was clearly one of Them. She shoots it down, only to soon be whisked away to Prythian by Tamlin, a faerie lord who demanded that she stay with him in return for killing a member of his court.The timeline is not always linear due to the multiple PoVs (I try to make it clear in the story, but it is also explained in the chapter summaries).All rights to the ACoTaR series go to Sarah J. Maas.
Relationships: Amarantha/Tamlin (one-sided), Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Tamlin
Series: ACoTaR Rewrite [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729882
Comments: 18
Kudos: 32





	1. Prologue

_'Just at the mirk and midnight hour  
The fairy folk will ride,  
And they that wad their true-love win,  
At Miles Cross they maun bide.' _

_-Ballad of Tam Lin_

* * *

“Mother,” Mora’s middle daughter, Elain, called, “Tell us a story.”  
  


“What would you all like to hear?” 

“Something about faeries,” her eldest daughter, Nesta, who had recently turned eleven, replied. 

“Alright here’s a short one and then all of you to bed, alright?” 

“Yes, mother,” the two children replied. 

“Once, there was a land called Prythian where the seasons were territories, and no king ruled. Rather seven high lords ruled the seven territories: Spring, Autumn, Summer, Winter, Day, Dawn, and Night. The denizens of that land, faeries they are called, could tell no untruth and shift into an animal form at will. They could wield the elements in their hands and live the span of more than ten human lives. 

“One day, a woman with hair the color of blood and armies like the hordes of Hell, came from across the sea and claimed the land for her own. High Queen, she called herself. She grew infatuated with the high lord of Spring and asked him to become her consort. The high lord was disgusted by her and said he’d sooner take a human as a wife than he would her. The queen grew furious by this and bestowed a curse upon him and his court. 

“‘For seven times seven years, from sunrise to sunset, your court will be confined to their animalistic forms, and you, a beast. On every full moon night, you will send one of your own to the forest beyond the wall, unarmed, to die. When one is killed by a human with hatred for our kind, if she can truthfully say the words “I love you,” the curse will be broken. Should you not send someone out on a full moon or should you fail at the end of the forty-nine years, the curse will be eternal and I will send my armies to your court, just as I did with the others.,’ she said. 

“And still he waits in his rose-decked halls, they say, for a human girl with hatred in her heart to learn to love him. 

“The end.”

“That’s it?” Elain asked, disappointed. 

“I told you it would be short,” Mora said, smiling. 

“I thought faeries can’t cross the wall because of the treaty,” Nesta said. 

“Oh, they can. They can do anything they want except enslave us.” 

“Aren’t the woods behind the house the ones near the wall?” Elain asked. “And it’s a full moon too.” 

“Maybe it’ll be this moon that the curse is broken.”

“Which year of the curse is this?” Nesta asked, looking out the window, which provided a direct view of the woods.

“I’m not sure,” Mora admitted. “Some traveling priests told me this story when I was in town as a child.”

“Father says that religion was created by faeries centuries ago to keep humans in line and priests are faerie bootlickers and zealots,” Elain says, and she adjusts her nightgown. 

“Your father is entitled to his own opinions,” Mora sighed.

“Are all these stories real?”.

“Maybe,” Mora replied. “I like to believe that they are. It makes life seem a little bit more magical.”

The two children started to drift off to sleep soon. Feyre, her youngest, had been asleep for a few hours now. She wouldn’t have liked the story anyway. Mora blew out the candles on each of their bedsides and decided to take a walk since it was a full moon. _December means it’s the cold moon,_ she thought. 

Full moons were always magical. Full moons were when girls got whisked away by handsome faerie knights, when werewolves transformed, and when the courts of Prythian held their full moon revels. Even as a child it had always made Mora sad that there was so much magic just beyond the wall. She wasn’t a fool. She knew that the Fair Folk were malicious and they had enslaved humans for centuries, but still. 

But even that seemed more appealing than the mundane and so incredibly _human_ life she had always lived. She truly did love her husband and children, but in the end, her marriage was only a glorified business transaction. 

The combination of the millions of stars scattered across the cloudless sky and the beams of moonlight that shone through the silvery canopy of the trees was beautiful and made her feel like she was in a storybook. It had been a while since she’d come out at night. The servants or her husband would always stop her. _It’s too dangerous_ they would say. _No one knows what wanders the wood at night._ They were right, of course, but the danger and mystery were exactly what Mora wanted. 

She started to run. Running was probably what kept her from becoming lost in a fantasy world because it was one of the few good things about the real world, in her mind. She’d always been good at it too. When she was younger, she’d go downtown or to a nearby village dressed as a regular peasant girl to compete in foot races for money. She wouldn’t keep the money when she won though. She had always been rich enough. 

Lost in thought, Mora kept running for what might’ve been an hour. More even. She eventually reached a clearing that she had visited maybe a thousand times. She unceremoniously lied in the grass and gazed at the sky. _I’ve come out here so many times,_ she thought, _but for what?_

Mora drifted into sleep and intended to start the run home by sunrise and make it back before the girls woke up. There would be a party tomorrow night to celebrate Mr. Archeron’s return home from another successful business trip. Instead, Mora was not woken by the sunrise but by something else. 

She did not go home the next morning. In fact, Mora did not ever go home. An injured rabbit with a too shiny coat and golden eyes lead her to where she truly belonged. She knew her girls would be well taken care of and that one day her husband would forget her and maybe even remarry. Maybe she was being selfish, but if that was the price of freedom, she was more than willing to pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages of Archeron sisters as of the next chapter:  
> Feyre - 23  
> Elain - 24  
> Nesta - 26  
> (There was a longer note here before but I accidentally deleted it, whoops)


	2. Feyre I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre kills a faerie and sells the pelt.

**Feyre I**

_An eye for an eye_

_-_ _Hammurabi's Code_

* * *

Feyre trekked through the woods checking the traps she had laid out this morning, all of which were empty. It was not terribly upsetting, however, since all the necessities had been paid for. It would have been nice to get a fancy dress or expensive soaps. 

The twilight sun made the late summer snow shimmer and the smooth-barked trees shine, like the backdrop to a fairytale. It would have been a nice sight if it weren’t for the old snow and Feyre’s cheap snow boots. 

It was about a 3-mile walk back to the village, as per the ten-year-old mile markers put in place by whatever rich man decided to make the hunters’ lives easier and built a trail through the woods. Feyre decided to take a shorter route so she could get home before the full moon rose. 

_Stay out of the woods on full moons, girls, unless you want the Folk to take you away._

Feyre shooed away those thoughts. Faeries were no longer allowed to take away humans, as per the treaty written after the war all those centuries ago. And if the history books were to be believed, faeries did not take. They only killed. The full moon tales were stories for children, priests, and fools. 

The route Feyre decided to take was not as worn as the trail, but worn enough that walking through it wasn’t a struggle. The moon started to become visible over the horizon, not giving off any sort of glow due to the lingering sunlight. 

Despite the fact that Feyre had walked this path many times in more darkness than this, there was something off about the shadows of the trees. They were ragged, almost as if they were tired. 

_It’s just my subconscious reacting to all those ridiculous stories._

Feyre continued to walk until she saw something move. She turned quickly, cracking her neck in the process. 

“Agh.” 

She internally groaned. 

_There it goes._

Surprisingly, it did not go. In fact, it stood right in front of her. 

A wolf, larger than possible with glowing silvery eyes. Inhuman, like the wolf from the stories from Far North that would swallow the moon when the world ended.

It remained there, unmoving as if waiting for Feyre to shoot. 

So she did. 

Without hesitation, Feyre released one of her few iron-tipped arrows. If her mother was truly taken by faeries on a full moon night such as this one, the faerie wolf deserved this and so did she. 

The iron arrow pierced the wolf’s side. The blow would not have killed a regular wolf, but it would kill this one. 

It was ironic, really. For all the tales of the fae’s glory, they died quite easily. 

* * *

When Feyre got back to the village, the sun was completely gone. No streaks of color remained in the sky and the full moon shone in all its glory. The Town Square was teeming in honor of the 200th anniversary of the day the kingdom Feyre’s town was in, Durobrig, had separated from the older kingdom west of them for reasons Feyre could not be bothered to remember. 

She carried the wolf's pelt with her, earning her quite a few stares. 

Along with the various stands for trading, there were also performers. Dancers from the Eastern continent, fortune tellers trying to lure in curious people, and actors performing a play featuring a queen with a shiny crown the colors of fire on her head. 

Feyre walked past the performers and various stands to go to her the place where her family used to shop before they fell into poverty. Before she could get there, a woman with tan skin and short black hair stopped her. 

“How much for the pelt?” she asked. 

Feyre looked at the items the woman was selling. Swords with jeweled hilts, fancy daggers, beautiful bows, and other beautiful but frivolous items. 

_She would be able to pay me a good amount._

“300 gold pieces.” 

The woman raised her eyebrows.

“Only 300 for a faerie pelt?” She laughed a small laugh, like the kind of laugh adults laughed when children said something naive and foolish. 

“Killing one of them will cost you a lot more than that. I’ll offer you 400.”  
  


Though she could use the money, her pride stood in the way. 

“I don’t need your pity.”  
  


The woman shrugged. 

“Alright, 300 gold pieces it is.” 

After the long process of the woman counting out the money to give to Feyre and Feyre recounting to ensure it was the right amount, she started to head home. Usually, she would stay in town for some time. Maybe have a drink or spend some time at Isaac Hale’s house, but despite knowing how stupid it was, she couldn’t help but think about what the woman who had bought the pelt had said. 

_Killing one of them will cost you a lot more than that._

Feyre looked at the full moon, which was glowing so bright that it seemed to be mocking her. It was the September Moon; the ‘Singing Moon’ her mother would say. She had disappeared under the Cold Moon, almost 15 years ago. 

Everyone who had known her family whispered about Mora Archeron being taken by faeries, but Feyre’s father had told her and her sisters that she had most likely been killed by a wild animal and her body had never been found. Because that was the logical explanation. Faeries have not crossed over in a long time. The only stories of them came from traveling priests and cults like the Children of the Blessed. 

On the walk home, Feyre had passed their old house: a marble house with a large front yard, right next to the forest. The debt collectors that had come for her father had taken the house, of course, so they relocated to a smaller house half a mile or so away. 

The smaller house was made of wood and only had 1 bedroom, a kitchen, and a small living area that also functioned as their father’s sleeping area. The yard was quite large for the house’s size. Almost the same size as the house. The edge was a line of trees separating their property from their neighbors. It had taken them a year of saving and cutting back on everything else to buy this house. 

Feyre unlocked the door to her house. 

“Father, Nesta, Elain, I brought home a surprise.” 

Nesta was sitting by the fireplace reading an old book, Elain was sewing and their father sat by the window. 

“I thought we didn’t have any money for surprises,” Nesta said, squinting a bit. 

“Ah yes, but in this case the surprise is money,” Feyre smirked, “300 gold pieces.” 

Elain gasped and even their Father, who rarely reacted, looked incredulous. 

“Feyre, how?” Elain asked.

“A large wolf pelt.” 

The truth, but not the full truth.  
  


“Feyre, I told you not to go hunting on the full moon!” Nesta said, abruptly closing her book. 

“I got us 300 gold pieces did I not? You can get new books, I can get paints, and Elain can get whatever it is she likes to do.”

“You’ve lived with me your whole life and you still don’t know what I like to do-”

“Yes, yes, alright,” Nesta sighed, “I also have news.”  
  


She gestured to an iron ring on her finger. 

“I’m marrying Tomas Mandray.”

Feyre was not surprised that Nesta was the first to be engaged. Nesta was the most beautiful of the three sisters. She was the tallest, had the clearest skin, the neatest hair, and she knew how to make people like, despite being a brat at home. 

Elain frowned. 

“I thought I told you to break things off with him.”

_“Why?”_ Nesta snapped. “Your reasoning is irrational and they are a well off family-”

“Elaine is right,” Feyre’s father interrupted, much to her surprise. “Tomas’ father beats his wife and Tomas and his brothers don’t do anything to help her.”  
  


Feyre blinked. She wondered how her father knew that, as he seldom left the house. 

Nesta’s eyes visibly widened. 

Before Nesta could speak, Feyre heard the crunching of leaves outside. 

“Someone’s at the door.” 

Feyre picked up her hunting knife and made her way to the door. She slowly inched towards it but was thrown back by it toppling downwards. The fireplace flickered from the gust of wind that came into the house. 

A large, humanoid creature with an animalistic face, fur covering its body, and claws like a bear’s stood at the door, the shadows of the fire making it seem even more terrifying. 

“MURDERERS!” 

If any of them had shrieked, or if Feyre herself had shrieked, she did not know. The terror of just staring at the creature’s face only grew when the creature drew a sword and rumbled four simple words. 

“A life for a life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated this story in forever, so I doubt anyone will read this but I regained inspiration for this so yay!! Anyways, the next chapter will either be another Feyre chapter or a Lucien chapter depending on what I feel like. Also quick note for future chapters, I want to make the 7 courts loosely based on mythological courts of gods or legendary kings or whatever, so even though I might change the 'implied ethnicity' of the character, their names will remain the same just so I have some connection to the original series.
> 
> EDIT 12/30: I had to edit this chapter to take place in September instead of December because in the next chapter I kept talking about the Autumn Equinox and taking place in September would make more sense timeline wise.


	3. Lucien I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andras goes over the wall. This chapter takes place right before the last chapter.

**Lucien I**

_“And wilt, Herr Oluf not dance with me_

_Should then plague and disease follow you.” … “The bride picked the scarlet red -_

_There lay Mr. Oluf, and he was dead.”_

_-Erl King’s Daughter by Johann Gottfried von Herder_

* * *

Daytimes in the Spring Court had always been too warm or too rainy. The windy days may have been nice if the wind didn’t scatter pollen from the forever-blooming flowers further. It had taken Lucien some time to get used to the weather and drinking disgusting pollen allergy medicine every few days. None of that was a problem anymore since he was forced to turn into a fox every sunrise, remaining that way until the sky turned dark. Lucien generally slept when shifted. Sleeping during the day wasn’t too much of an adjustment since he had grown up in the Autumn court, where waking before in the morning was only for scholars, priests, and peasants. 

For those native to the Spring court, however, losing the daylight hours was truly inconvenient since they generally woke up midday. No one was forced to adopt a new sleeping schedule, but most chose to do so since the alternative option was roaming the forests as an animal. 

If that alone was the curse that Amarantha had placed upon the Spring Court, it would have been no curse at all. Only a minor inconvenience. The real curse was the full moon sacrifice.

In the beginning, the elderly had volunteered to go themselves, but eventually, volunteers ran low, and instead of reveling as they had done for thousands of years, the folk of the Spring Court began to lock themselves in the house on full moon nights. Regardless, someone always disappeared and it was always one of the ‘lesser fae.’

When the volunteers had begun to run low, Tamlin had given the order to his knights to force someone to go beyond the wall. Tamlin had not specified that it be lesser fae taken from their homes, but the knights did just that, being high fae and gentry. Tamlin did not object to it either, which often made Lucien wonder if all high lords were this way, favoring the higher classes when it came down to it. 

Even his friend, who hated dealing with the ruling class’ politics and would much rather be a farmer than a high lord. 

Lucien had woken up earlier than usual today. There was still light in the sky, so he had not yet shifted back to his true form. Lucien had been waking up a couple of hours before the sunset for some time now. It was the final year of the curse and there was no human girl in the Spring Court thus far, so he spent many of his waking hours preparing for Amarantha’s armies to pillage the Spring Court. Mostly writing letters and visiting Tamlin’s generals. Occasionally, the secret trip to the Winter or Autumn courts. Waking up early, though something he never would’ve done before, was the only way to get some peace. 

The sky gradually began to darken farther, giving way to September’s Singing Moon. This moon fell on the Autumn equinox, the first day of Autumn in the human lands and the solar courts. The most celebrated day in the Autumn court. 

_The nights will become slightly shorter now, even in Spring._

Lucien transformed back as soon as the sky became completely black. He slowly got out of bed and sat behind his desk, not bothering to get ready. Barely anyone would be awake this early. 

“Luci-”

Lucien, who was now rummaging through the desk drawer for a pen, hit his hand on the bottom of the desk in surprise.

_"_ What the hell is wrong with you, Andras? Didn’t I tell you to _knock?_ Besides, the door was locked-”

Andras stood in the doorway, smiling, wearing full armor and with a sword at his side. His dark skin was shiny with sweat as if he’d been outside all 

“Your lock is terrible,” he shrugged, “Now brush your hair, we’re going out.” 

“Get out of my bedroom.”

“I’m technically not in your bedroom-”

“Wait, how long were you just standing in my living room?”

“Not important,” he said, waving his hand. “Now get up.” 

“Where are we going?” Lucien asked. “Do you not have to take someone to send over the wall tonight?”  
  


Andras’ smile fell.

“It has been taken care of.” 

Andras was one of Tamlin’s knights and probably one of Lucien’s closest friends in the Spring Court. Lucien was aware that Andras found no joy in the full moon sacrifices, but was bound to do it by the Knight’s oath. Lucien chose not to ask for more than what Andras told him about the specifics of Tamlin’s orders regarding the full moon sacrifices, fearing it would taint how he saw them. 

“Then where are we going?

“Wherever you want.” 

“Why? Besides, I have work.” 

“You would’ve never chosen work over anything when I first met you.” 

“I was 17 when you first met me.” 

Lucien pulled out a sheet of paper and began writing a letter, addressed to his cousin’s wife, the Commander of Armies in the Winter Court. Going out was tempting, especially since it was the full moon. Though it had been 49 years since there was a proper full moon revel, the thought of doing work the whole day was depressing.

“Just tonight, okay? We will be back before the first meal.”

There was a sense of urgency in Andras’ voice, compelling Lucien to agree.

“Fine, wait in the living room.”

It took Lucien about a quarter of an hour to look presentable, but Andras still complained.

“You take ages to get ready,” he said, as they made their way outside. “You look the exact same as you did when you woke up, except you brushed your hair, and I doubt that took so long.” 

“I do not look the same as I did when I woke up, also where are we going?”  
  


“I told you that you could pick.”

“How about the bar?” Lucien suggested.

Andras laughed.

“You just woke up and you want a beer?”

“I need it after the last few months.”

“Bar it is then.”

Lucien and Andras rose horses to the bar, which was 7 miles away from the palace. Once upon a time, Lucien would have winnowed them there, but the use of magic drew the attention of the unsavory beasts Amarantha had let loose in their forests. 

The pub was pretty much empty except for those who were passed out at tables and the human bartender. It wasn’t too strange to see a human in the Spring Court. That had taken some time for Lucien to get used to since the only time humans were in the Autumn Court was when they were lured in for some sick joke. 

“Shouldn’t you have changed out of the armor?” Lucien whispered to Andras. 

“No one here has enough consciousness to recognize us,” he shrugged. 

If the bartender knew who they were, she didn’t care. She gave them their drinks and charged them a price that Lucien suspected was much higher than the actual price. 

Neither Andras nor Lucien drank enough to not be able to get on a horse. They spent a good hour playing cards, and eventually went outside to race their horses. When the time for the first meal approached, it was Andras who reminded them. 

“You should probably go to the palace to eat.” 

“Aren’t you going to come?”

“I need to do something.” 

“Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry about it.” 

“I might have to take a trip to the Winter Court today, so I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Andras didn’t say anything. He took off on his horse, in the opposite direction from the palace. 

It wasn’t until Lucien was two miles from the palace that he realized what Andras had gone to do. 

_No, no, the fucking idiot._

Lucien continued to the palace stables, leaving his horse there. The point where Andras had left was 7 miles from the wall, so he should be arriving there about now. To have any chance of catching up, Lucien would have to winnow. He rarely winnowed anymore. Winnowing within the Spring Court drew attention from the creatures in the forests and winnowing across borders drew attention from Amarantha.

The monsters in the forests could only do so much, though. They may be a terror to farmers but he could kill them if he needed. It only required a single thought to winnow, making it a dangerous ability to have as a child. 

Lucien arrived at the place in the wall where the full moon sacrifices were sent out in a ring of flames.

It turned out that Andras was right there since he fell over in surprise. 

“How did you-?” he began. 

“You are a horrible liar, Andras.” 

“Lucien, we can’t lie,” Andras said as he took the saddle off his horse. 

“Most of us manage somehow. Come home, we’ll send someone else.” 

“I can’t keep sending people to die. I’m supposed to be protecting the innocent-”

“You’re not upholding your skewed ideals of honor by doing this. You’re going to die and it’ll be for nothing! You can’t even change into your animal form without my help.” 

Andras whispered something to his horse that caused it to run into the forest. His dark eyes seemed to turn silver in the moonlight, giving the planes of his face an eerie shine. 

“This time it won’t be for nothing.”

“How can you-” 

Lucien was interrupted by familiar, shrieking wails coming from the forest.

_I’m dead and ash now and it’s all your fault._

“Lucien, get out of here now!” Andras yelled. “Your magic called the attention of the banshee!” 

“I can fight it, just please don’t go!” 

_I’m dead and ash now and it’s all your fault._

Andras didn’t respond. In his place, stood a large wolf. Andras’ animal form. Lucien didn’t think he had the ability to change into it at will since he was only high-fae on his mother’s side. 

  
The shrieks of the banshee got louder, bringing memories of death with it. 

Lucien’s hand went to where his sword should have been, but he had left it with his horse in the stables.

He turned to face Andras, hoping he had turned back to his original form, but even the wolf was no longer there. 

_I’m dead and ash now and it’s all your fault._

The banshee had gotten even closer, her wails making Lucien’s ears ring. 

He had no choice but to go home. Lucien was in no state of mind to fight a banshee and no matter what he said, Andras would not come with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I actually didn't wait six months to update. This chapter is mostly filler, I guess. I kind of just felt like it should be there because I didn’t want to follow up immediately with Feyre, and I thought Andras should at least make one appearance before he died. 
> 
> We'll get back to Feyre in the next chapter. After that, it should be Rhysand's first chapter. Okay, one major change to the story that people reading should be aware of are: Rhysand's sister is alive and is the high lady of the Night Court, for the time being.
> 
> The next chapter will be out soon because even though I like writing Feyre’s chapters (if I didn’t she wouldn’t have the most chapters planned for her), I’m most excited to rewrite Rhysand and to do that, I have to get Feyre’s next chapter out of the way.


	4. Feyre II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre says goodbye to her family and Tamlin takes her to the Spring Court. This chapter takes place immediately after Feyre's last chapter (the chapter right after the Prologue).

**Feyre II**

_“Here in the forest, dark and deep, I offer you eternal sleep.”_

_-The Poor Little Rich Girl (1917)_

* * *

“A life for a life.” 

Feyre grabbed the iron rod next to the fireplace holding it up the beast. 

“Get out of my house,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “You won’t be taking any life tonight.” 

The beast laughed, though it backed away from the iron rod. 

“And why not?” it rumbled, “You have taken the life of one of the members of my court, on a full moon night, no less. It’s only fitting that you come with me, huntress.” 

“W-what?” Feyre stuttered. 

_The faerie wolf I had killed._

Feyre hadn’t thought that the wolf was a member of some faerie court. That its death would be accounted for. 

“But I didn’t think humans would forget our ways so soon,” the beast said, “Everything comes with a price, huntress.” 

More cold air blew into the house through the doorless doorway, this time causing the fire to die out. It left the house dark, save for the moonlight that streamed through the window and the flickering candlelight coming from the bedroom. 

Feyre, turned her head to wear her sisters and father were crouched together. Nesta let go of Elain’s hand and stood up. 

“Murderer or not, you will not take my sister,” she said, her voice not wavering in the slightest. “You may take me instead.” 

“Nesta, are you insane?” Feyre demanded, “You have a future. I won’t let you die.” 

The beast laughed. 

“I did not say anything about dying,” it said, “The one who killed the wolf will live with me in my palace in Prythian.” 

Feyre must have looked shocked, because the beast laughed once more. Its laugh was a strange thing. It could have been the laugh of any human man if it didn’t seem like the trees around their house laughed with it. 

“I will return at noon tomorrow to collect the huntress.” 

“Wait,” Feyre called. She didn’t know where she found the courage to tell a faerie beast to wait, but she also didn’t want her family to fall into deeper poverty than they were already in. “I won’t put up a fight tomorrow morning if you ensure that my family is fed and given enough money to sustain a decent life.” 

The beast turned around and waved its hand, which seemingly lit the blown out fireplace and repaired the broken door. 

_Magic._

“Any fight you put up will be futile,” it replied, “But you have my word that your family will be taken care of.” 

_Why did the human girl trust that he would return? Clare’s sister said that all boys lie._

_A faerie’s word is worth more than his own life, Feyre._

Feyre usually kept all memories of her mother locked away where she would not think of them, but she had hoped what her mother said that day was true, and not the words of a mother to a seven year old girl who already did not believe in happy endings. 

“Thank you.”

The beast said nothing more and disappeared in a cloud of rose petals.

* * *

Feyre’s father went to bed almost immediately after the beast left, but Feyre and her sisters stayed up the whole night. 

They didn’t discuss anything serious at all. In fact, the first half of the night they went to the square and did all sorts of things. 

Elain, who had never even touched beer, tried vodka for the first time. To Feyre’s dismay, she did not get drunk but that was because she couldn’t even hold in half a glass (Nesta laughed herself sick for the first time in years because of it). 

Nesta took Elain and Feyre to see a play performed by a traveling theatre company that came around this time of year. Nesta had already seen the play, but she said she didn’t mind watching it again. It was a romance play, which bored Feyre to death. It wasn’t that she didn’t like romance, it was just the brand of romance that Nesta liked that she couldn’t stand. It was all worth it, however, since Nesta actually _flirted_ with the man running the ticket booth to get them in. 

Feyre, who felt like being a little bit foolish that night, bet an arrogant 16 year old boy 100 silver pieces that she could beat him in a half-mile footrace. Feyre had always been quite good at footraces (something her and her mother shared in common), so she did win the money. Instead of saving the money like she usually would, she spent it on food for herself, her sisters and some for their father the next morning. 

Despite what they all knew would happen the next morning, the Archeron sisters did truly enjoy themselves. Feyre went home that night laughing, with her hunger sated. They stayed up the rest of the night talking, knowing it would be the last time in maybe forever. They spoke about a lot of things, but eventually the subject of Nesta’s marriage came up.

“Nesta, please don’t marry Tomas Mandray,” Elain pleaded.

“Why would I do that?” she replied, “You said their family wasn’t a good one, and I’ll take your word for it. Besides, I didn’t really want to get married all that much. I just thought it would put less of a burden on you and Feyre. But now that…” 

Her voice trailed off. Feyre obviously knew what she was about to say. It was the one thing they hadn’t talked about all night. Maybe it was the only thing they should have talked about. 

“Nesta, Elain,” Feyre began, “Assuming that faeries always keep their word, you’ll be well taken care of. Even if the beast doesn’t keep his word, you have the 300 gold pieces from that pelt to live off of until you figure something out. And you can sell all my stuff.” 

“We are _not_ selling all your stuff, Feyre,” Elain said firmly.

“Well, you should,” Feyre said, shakily, “Because I don’t even know if I’ll-” 

Feyre was about to cry. She hated crying in front of people, even her family. She rubbed her eyes to prevent the tears from falling, but the rubbing just made her eyes red. 

“It’s okay, Feyre,” Nesta said, attempting to comfort her, “Maybe the beast will turn out to be a handsome faerie prince and you can get married and the next time I see you, which I _will,_ I’ll have to call you Princess.” 

“Nesta, have I ever told you that you’re actually ridiculous when it comes to romance?”

Nesta laughed. 

They spent the rest of the night talking about ridiculous things and playing ridiculous games all while dreading the morning that was to come. 

* * *

The beast arrived exactly at noon the next day with a carriage drawn by what Feyre assumed were faerie horses. They looked much like regular horses, but they had horns and were each different shades of green.

_Why can’t you keep up with me, Bramble? You’re terribly slow._

Feyre blinked. They spoke? 

_Shut up, Thorn. At least I didn’t wake up this morning with a headache because I drank too much last night._

Thorn made a sound of disapproval at that. 

“Gods save me,” Feyre muttered to herself, “The horses can fucking speak.” 

Her father laughed from behind her. 

“Language, Feyre,” he jokingly chided. 

Her father being so… jovial startled Feyre more than the talking horses. 

Before Feyre could respond to his remark about language, he hugged her with the hand that didn’t hold his cane.

“Take care, Feyre,” he whispered.

Feyre’s father had never done much to help them sustain themselves. Feyre had blamed him for it when she was younger, but she could no longer blame him. The debt collectors had shattered his leg so there was not much he could do. 

“You too, father,” she said, hugging him back. 

Elain and Nesta both rushed out of the house to say goodbye. Elain looked like she’d been crying, but it might have been from a lack of sleep. Nesta looked as calm as always. Feyre had always admired her ability to keep calm. Relative to Elain, who was very emotionally expressive, Feyre was calm. But she could never control her anger. She could control her sadness and her tears, and even laughter, but never anger. 

Elain hugged her first. 

“Goodbye, Feyre,” she said, squeezing her.

“Goodbye, Elain,” Feyre said, hugging her back. 

Nesta hugged her next. Only it wasn’t a hug. Nesta leaned closer to Feyre’s ear and whispered. 

“Take my iron ring,” she said, shoving it into Feyre’s hand. “It’s small, but any amount of iron can hurt them. Hide it well, so that the beast doesn’t smell it.”

Feyre nodded, leaning in to give Nesta a real hug. 

“Bye, Feyre,” she said quietly. 

“It is time to leave,” the beast said, abruptly. 

Feyre nodded and stepped into the carriage. The carriage was finely decorated on the inside with gold and silver carvings of roses and birds. The curtains were an off-white color and appeared to be crafted of the finest mulberry silk. It was beautiful, but frivolous. 

“Thorn, Bramble, take us home,” Feyre heard the beast say. 

_Hear that, Thorn? Move._

_Go drown yourself in molten iron, Bramble._

Feyre could have sworn she heard the beast chuckle. 

* * *

The Wall, the great invisible structure that separated the human lands from the land of the Fair Folk was about 10 miles into the woods where Feyre hunted. Feyre’s town, Feor, was on the very edge of the kingdom of Durobrig (hence the name) and the one closest to Prythian. 

Once, when Feyre was 17 years old, she had wandered far enough into the forest to reach the wall. She remembered that despite it being January at the time, the trees were green and the wildflowers were ubiquitous beyond the wall. She had been extremely tired that day and so she fell asleep, leaning against the Wall. Feyre had spent the night there and was luckily found the next morning by a hunter who took Feyre home on her horse. Feyre’s family didn’t let her leave the house for a week after that. 

It turned out faerie horses were a lot faster than human horses, though they were a lot more annoying. Shortly after the carriage had departed from Feyre’s home, she had fallen asleep, only to be surrounded by the green leaves and assortment of wild flowers that she remembered from six years ago. 

Only this time, there were also villages and towns. They all appeared to be abandoned, but Feyre couldn’t exactly tell with the speed they were going at. Based on the intensity of the sun, Feyre realized that she hadn’t slept all that long. It was barely mid-afternoon. 

The carriage came to a stop in front of the doors of a large palace. It appeared like any mortal palace with grand gardens and dozens of windows and large, intricately designed double doors. 

It would have been exactly like any mortal palace if it weren’t for vines that seemed to grow and shrink with every slight movement and every breath of wind. The shadows of the vines and even the palace itself seemed to be misshapen, almost as if they existed on their own, independent of the objects they reflected. 

The beast opened the door to her carriage. Once Feyre stepped out of the marriage, she realized how out of place her clothing looked. Not only was her clothing inappropriate for the warm weather, it was just ugly compared to the beautiful environment. 

_You need to get some new clothes. You look worse than Thorn._

Feyre turned to face the horses, who were being unfastened from the carriage by the beast. 

“Uhm.” 

She was at a loss for words. What was one supposed to say to a magic talking horse that couldn’t shut up for the life of it? 

Thorn started to make noises of anger, which Bramble seemed to think was the funniest thing in the whole world. 

The beast seemed to shake its head. 

“Thorn, Bramble, you may go home.” 

_Finally. With respect, my lord, I am never doing this again. I can’t stand spending more than three minutes with this fucking idiot._

_Now that is something we can agree on._

The beast laughed a short breathy laugh. 

With that, Bramble ran off immediately leaving Thorn behind. 

_Enjoy your stay, my lady,_ Thorn said before running after Bramble. 

Feyre had to laugh at that. No one had ever called her ‘my lady.’ Surprisingly, she didn’t mind it, but she also didn’t know how to react. .

“Come, huntress, I will show you to your rooms.” 

_My rooms? So I’m not staying in a cell._

Instead of voicing her surprise, Feyre chose to follow the beast instead of questioning it. 

He led her through the grand halls of the palace. The hall that they had entered was lined with paintings that changed colors with each step they made. Feyre could have sworn that one of the paintings’ eyes had moved. 

Feyre was led through a variety of hallways while she wondered how she would manage not to get lost. At the end of a hall with murals made out of leaves, there was a staircase that seemed as if it would fall through if she stepped on it. She stepped on it when she saw that the beast stepped on it and that a variety of birds were perched on the railing, staring at her with their strange, multicolored eyes. 

Finally, at the base of the staircase, there was a hallway of windows with a single door at the end. On a table outside of the door there was a fox with an orangish-red coat and golden eyes. It stared at her and the beast for a bit before jumping off the table and skittering down the hallway. 

“This is your bedroom,” the beast told her flatly, “A servant will come to get you when it is time for the first meal.” 

Feyre opened the door to find a room resembling the one she had when she was a child, before her family became poor. The room was painted a dull lavender color and the furniture was all white. The back wall had a large window, which overlooked the palace grounds. The long side of a large bed was pushed up against the window. On the wall behind the bed frame, there was a simple, wooden desk and on the right of it, a vanity. On the wall opposite the desk and vanity table, there were two doors. One led to a bathroom and the other to a walk-in closet filled with all sorts of things. In the center of the room, there was a violet rug, with a white couch on top. Enough to seat two people. 

It was, as far as Feyre could see, a perfectly human bedroom. Though she assumed it had to be somewhat magical, since it looked much too similar to her childhood bedroom. Without bothering to take a shower, Feyre shut the curtains and plopped on the feathery bed, falling asleep almost immediately. 

* * *

“Wake up, human.” 

“Huh?”

Feyre slowly opened her eyes, struggling to do so because of how well lit the room was. She turned her head slightly to see if there was still light outside. 

There wasn’t. The waning moon was just over the horizon and there were still small streaks of blue and orange in the sky, suggesting that the sun had just gone down. 

Standing over her was a pale woman with skin that looked to be the texture of a birch tree and silky white hair. Her eyes were human enough, other than being a little bit _too_ blue and a little bit too downturned. Her ears were pointed, but seemed to go outwards, rather than up. 

“Get up, human,” she snapped, “I’m here to take you to the first meal.” 

“Uhm alright.” 

“I have drawn up a bath for you. Assuming you know how to bathe yourself, I will be back shortly to help you dress.”

“Alright. What is your name?” Feyre asked in an attempt to be polite. She didn’t know whether the thing about having a faerie’s true name (or them having yours) allowed you to control them, but even if it did, why would she give Feyre her true name. 

“Alis,” she said curtly, before shutting the door and leaving the room. 

Feyre went into the bathroom and tossed her clothes on the floor. She stepped into the large bath that had been drawn up for her, almost shuddering at the perfect temperature. Though the bath was extremely nice, she got out immediately after she washed herself, curious as to what the first meal would look like. She had an eternity ahead of her to take warm baths now. 

Putting on the underwear and silk shift dress that was laid out for her on the counter, Feyre wondered why the beast, or rather lord of the court, was being so hospitable. She remembered her mother saying something about faeries valuing hospitality, but surely that didn’t apply to a human who had killed one of their own?

_Maybe I should’ve paid a little bit more attention to Mother’s stories._

Feyre exited the bathroom to find Alis waiting for her. 

“Now that you are clean, I suppose you’re not terrible looking for a human.” 

“Thanks,” Feyre said dryly. She had never met a faerie before yesterday night, but so far they were all incredibly annoying. “You’re not terrible looking for a faerie.”

“Watch your tongue, human,” she snarled, “Most of my kind won’t take kindly to a smart-mouthed human, so I suggest you control yourself. Unless it’s Lucien. Say whatever you want to him.”

“Who’s Lucien?”

“You’ll meet him soon enough.” 

“Okay, what am I supposed to wear?” 

Alis held up a dress with long, sheer sleeves, and a velvet bodice, both colored a blue. The skirts were made of what Feyre assumed was silk (though she was starting to realize she didn’t know what half of the things in Prythian were made of), colored the same as the bodice, with gold vines stitched on it. 

Feyre hadn’t owned anything that nice in years. She was about to thank Alis and agree to wear it, but she remembered her family on the other side of the Wall and couldn’t bring herself to wear something so nice. Not when she didn’t know how they were doing. Not yet. 

“Do you have anything less… grand?” 

To Feyre’s surprise, Alis laughed. 

“You have much to grow accustomed to in Prythian if you think this to be grand, human.” 

Alis went into the closet and returned with a more simple dress. This dress was a lighter blue, with a simpler bodice and a simpler skirt. It wasn’t made out of silk, but a softer material that Feyre couldn’t identify. 

Feyre nodded. 

“Thank you.”

Alis handed the dress to Feyre and told her to go put it on in the closet since she ‘knew humans were shy about that sort of thing.’ 

Feyre went into the closet to put on the dress, vaguely wondering if faeries weren’t shy about ‘that sort of thing’ or Alis was just toying with her. 

When she came out, Alis told her to sit down in the chair so she could do Feyre’s hair. 

Alis brushed her hair with a sandalwood comb. 

“Your hair is not well-taken care of,” Alis remarked.

Feyre felt slightly offended by that, since she really did try to take care of her hair as much as she could. Feyre was by no means ugly. She would’ve been pretty if she wasn’t so… gaunt. She had curly brown hair a few inches past her shoulders. It was dry due to lack of access to expensive products and the cold weather where she lived. Nesta had always said she had nice cheekbones, but Nesta’s were definitely better. Nesta and Feyre shared their eye color, a dull blue, and hair color with their father, while Elain had their mother’s green eyes and dark hair. 

Alis braided Feyre’s hair starting at the top of head, a style which definitely complimented the dress. Alis then pulled out two earrings, but frowned.

“You don’t have your ears pierced.” 

“I did when I was younger, but they closed due to lack of use.”

Alis nodded.

“I’m going to take you to the dining hall now.”

Feyre blinked and followed Alis. She was quite eager to go, since she’d heard that faerie food made people never want to leave Prythian. 

That wasn’t really a problem for her, since she probably couldn’t leave either way. 

She followed Alis back the way the beast had led her earlier, up the staircase (which didn’t have birds on it this time), and down a different hallway which led to the dining room. 

The dining room was extremely large with a long table in the center covered in food. Faeries danced to the music played by an invisible orchestra and faerie children skimmed food from the table. Many sat down and ate, too, laughing musical and terrifying laughs. They all looked so different. Some tall and some short. Some skin the color of wildflowers and some skin colored the same as any human. Some were more animalistic than human, and others looked mostly human. Feyre assumed the human-looking ones were the High Fae, the ruling class. The most dangerous, according to her mother’s stories and the history lessons she had as a child. 

Behind the far end of the long table were several high tables. Only the central one was occupied by a man with golden hair and another man with red. 

Feyre assumed that Alis would leave her to navigate the room alone, but instead, she led Feyre to the high table. 

“My lord, this is the human,” Alis said plainly. 

“Thank you, Alis,” the one with blonde hair said. 

He was broad-shouldered and wore a green tunic. His hair fell slightly past his shoulders. He was slightly tanned and had the trademark pointed ears of the high fae. He was definitely much more handsome than a regular human man with his face without flaw, but he may have been able to pass for human if he had a hood to cover his ears. He could have passed if it weren’t for his eyes. His eyes were the greener than the ever-green forest near the wall. Even Feyre, someone who ridiculed her sister’s romance books endlessly, could stare at his eyes forever. Nesta had once told Feyre a story about a woman who could paint faeries in their true form and Feyre, who enjoyed painting herself, wondered if anyone had truly managed to ever do such a thing. She could not imagine any color to be so rich. 

_Beautiful but deadly._

Alis bowed slightly and then disappeared into the crowd.

Feyre sat in the empty chair at the high table, assuming that’s what she was supposed to do. What was she supposed to say? Why was she even sitting at a lord’s table?

_Oh._

One of them was probably the beast, shifted into his faerie form (Feyre didn’t consider the fact that it had one). She looked at the faerie with red hair. His long, straight hair was the color of an autumn forest. Mostly red, but streaks of dark-gold shone in his hair as well. One of his eyes was a bright gold, while the other, while also being gold, was slightly different. Metallic, almost. A scar ran down that same eye, so that eye was a prosthetic, most likely. His skin was a light brown and his face was slimmer than the green-eyed faerie. 

The green eyed faerie opened his mouth to speak, but closed it and looked at the red haired one, who Feyre could have sworn sighed.

“So you’re the human girl who killed my friend?” he said, smirking, “I imagined you to be taller.” 

“You must be Lucien,” Feyre said. Alis spoke of ‘Lucien’ like he was insufferable and this one definitely seemed insufferable. 

Lucien laughed.

“Be nice, Lucien” the green eyed faerie said quietly.

“Right, apologies, my lady,” Lucien said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “My name is Lucien, emissary of this region and commander pro-tem of the seventh regiment of the Spring Court. This is Tamlin, the ruler of these lands.” 

_So this is the Spring Court, and the beast’s name is Tamlin._

“Is it normal for all lords to have emissaries?”

“Some of them,” Lucien responded. 

“What is your name?” the green-eyed faerie, Tamlin, asked her. 

“You want my name? No more calling me ‘huntress?’”

“I’d prefer a name,” Tamlin offered, “Besides, you don’t look much of a huntress anymore. Your hair is cleaner.”

_My hair is cleaner?_

“Feyre,” she said. There was no real use in lying about her first name. 

“She doesn’t look like a huntress, but she may still be trying to kill us,” Lucien said, before Tamlin could say anything else, “She hasn’t touched her food, even though it’s probably much better than whatever mortals eat, but stole the butter knife instead. Also, please get rid of that awful iron piece you're hiding. It’s been giving me a headache ever since you sat down.” 

Feyre blinked in surprise. She thought she had hid the iron ring well. Were faeries really so sensitive to iron?

“How did you…?” 

“You’d know it was there too if your human senses could actually smell how awful it is. The only thing that even comes close to it is pollen.”

Feyre had to laugh at that. Before her mother disappeared, Feyre’s father had taken her and her sisters on a business trip with him. Father had sneezed every three minutes while they were there because the man hosting them had flowers everywhere. It seemed like such a human thing, having allergies. 

_“You’re allergic to pollen?”_

“Unfortunately. I was not born in the Spring court.” 

“Where were you born?” 

“Somewhere else,” Lucien vaguely responded. 

“Have you always lived in the house that I brought you from?” Tamlin asked.

“No,” Feyre said, starting to eat her food (which was the most amazing thing she had ever tasted), “We used to be rich when I was younger. Then, we lost our wealth and lived in a single room cabin for a couple of months. We had to save up money during that time to buy a decent sized house. You couldn’t even imagine how stressed I was when you broke down our door.” 

“How else was I supposed to come in?”

“You could have knocked,” Feyre suggested.

“Would you have let me in?”  
  


“Probably not, but you could have broken down our door after you tried asking nicely first.”

Tamlin raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re not terrible, _Feyre_ ,” Lucien said, stressing out her name, “Most humans I’ve met wouldn’t have said half of the things you’ve said their first time meeting one of the high fae.” 

“I doubt you would have given me a feathered bed and invited me to sit here to eat if you were going to kill me,” Feyre said, hoping she’d get an answer as to why she was being treated like an honored guest and not a prisoner. 

“ _We_ will not kill you,” Tamlin answered, “But you have much to learn about Prythian if you think a feathered bed and a meal ensure that you won’t be killed.” 

Feyre cleaned off the last bits of food off her plate, wondering what made faerie chickens so much better than mortal chickens.

“I will learn eventually, but I’m going to go to my room, for now.” 

She didn’t actually plan to go to her rooms. She would try and figure out what was going on, because something was off. Or just try to find her way around. 

_Your curiosity will get you killed, Feyre._

“Is there anything else you would like?” Tamlin asked.

Feyre was going to say no, but she could have anything here, and it’s not like they would miss it. 

“Painting supplies would be nice.” 

“Alis will show you to the art room at dusk tomorrow.” 

_Art room?_

“Does everyone always awake at dusk here?”

“Not always, but yes, for the time being.” 

Feyre got up out of her chair to leave. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for some wine, Feyre?” Lucien asked. 

“Isn’t this the first meal?”

“Does it matter?”

Feyre shook her head and took her leave of the dining room. She earned some stares from the Folk on the way out. She may have assumed it was because she was human, but Feyre did see some humans dancing with the faeries while she sat at the high table. 

_Maybe Mother is one the humans dancing with the faeries. She would have liked that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, really fast update (and a really long one), but I've got the time and motivation so why not. I may be able to get the next chapter out pretty soon, but after that I have no clue when I'll be able to do another chapter (I'm going to try and not wait several months like I did between the Prologue and the first chapter though). I want to finish this installment by the end of the summer 2021, but it is 25 chapters, so it's sort of a stretch.
> 
> Next up, Rhysand's first chapter! Then three Feyre chapters. Depending on what flows better, one of them might be Lucien's chapter but probably not. Regardless, there will be three spring court chapters before Rhysand's second chapter. 
> 
> Some things to clarify:
> 
> The Spring Court is confined to their animal forms for the day, and at night they have free will to shift in and out of their animal forms. Well, the High Fae do. The High Fae have animal forms that they can shift into and that's what they're trapped in for the day. The other species of faeries of the Spring Court (Thorn and Bramble, for example) are also trapped in an animal form, but it kind of just varies since they can't really shift into an animal form at will. Tamlin also has an animal form, but transforming into a beast was a part of his curse (so that's his alternate form until the curse is lifted). I'll probably cover this in the story in a future Feyre chapter, but just to clear things up. 
> 
> Feyre does not yet know that Tamlin is high lord. When Lucien said 'ruler of these lands' she assumed that he was regional lord. 
> 
> Another quick thing, most of the characters will have different physical appearances. Some of them will be intentional. Some of them because I forgot how the characters looked and was too lazy to check (Alis, for example). 
> 
> Sorry for the long author's note.


	5. Rhysand I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Autumn Equinox celebration Under the Mountain (the full moon night). Starts at the same time as the first chapter (not prologue) and ends shortly Andras dies. After this, things will speed up. The next chapter will cover up to the Winter Solstice in the Spring Court (3 month time span).

**Rhysand I** **  
**

_Out of the night that covers me,_

_Black as the pit from pole to pole,_

_I thank whatever gods may be_

_For my unconquerable soul._

_-Invictus by William Ernest Henley_

* * *

When Rhysand was a child, his mother told him it was believed that long before the seven courts of Prythian, the palace Under The Mountain was once home to the terrifying king of the Nasnas, the deformed descendants of demons and humans. He had reigned for seven decades before he was brought down by a human who he was arrogant enough to bargain with. 

The other courts and even the other regions of the night court had other stories about the palace Under The Mountain, but all of Prythian thought it to be sacred for some reason or another. It had also been empty for as long as Prythian could remember but when Amarantha came from across the sea to mend the relationship between Hybern and Prythian, the courts had offered for her to stay in it as a gesture of hospitality. 

No one had expected for it to become a beacon of horror. 

The grand hall, a large cavern with grand candle-lit chandeliers hanging from the top, was buzzing in anticipation for the Autumn Equinox celebration. Rhysand would’ve hated today more than most other days in this godsforsaken place, for there was little that was good about it. Songs from the Autumn Court were played by glamoured humans, giving the otherwise nice songs an off-kilter, strange tone. Amarantha’s hobgoblins jumped around terrorizing servants and replacing the food on the long tables with glamoured rot. 

Yes, Rhysand definitely would have hated today more than the other days, if it weren’t one of the four days of the year that he got to see his sister. 

On the solstices and the equinoxes, Amarantha would collect a seventh of the tax revenue accumulated since the last tax collection by each of the courts. She would invite the ruling families of each of the courts (except Spring who only paid on the Vernal Equinox until time to break their curse ran out) to pay their tribute and then join her for a feast.

Those were the only days Rhysand’s sister, Rhiannon, the High Lady of the Night Court, would be present Under the Mountain. Rhysand still wouldn’t be able to see Azriel, Cassian, or Mor, since he and Rhiannon decided it would be best not to jeopardize their safety in case Amarantha recognized them from the war. 

Rhysand stood next to Amarantha at the high table, continuing to look over the commotion in the great hall. People were starting to arrive. Talented blacksmiths that offered Amarantha jewels and weapons, seamstresses that made dresses from tears and moonlight, and even a few prominent figures from Hybern.   
  


Usually Rhysand would have paid some attention, but he was too focused on the announcer, a tall lady with midnight blue skin, too-long limbs, and a voice as clear as a bell, waiting for her to announce the High Lady of the Night Court. 

_“Beron, High Lord of the Autumn Court, his consort, Lady Maya, their first born son, Prince Eris, the high lord’s brother, Prince Eshaan, and his daughter, Lady Leila.”_

Rhysand must’ve visibly reacted at the sound of the announcer’s voice because Amarantha laughed. Her laugh was hollow and malicious like everything else about her. 

“Waiting for your sister, Rhysand?”

“Yes, my queen.” 

His nails dug into the palm of his hand. It made Rhysand nervous whenever Amarantha had mentioned his sister. 

Amarantha said nothing more regarding Rhiannon, instead looking at Beron and his family. They arrived with a train of servants bearing finely made golden jewelry adorned with rubies and any other precious gems. The Autumn Court was one of the richer courts in Prythian, second to only the Night Court. Despite the copious amounts of gold and jewels they brought, Rhysand doubted it was a seventh of their tax revenue. Gold had a lot less worth in the Autumn Court than it did in other places since even peasant families had a fair amount of it. Their main industry was energy and their economy was stimulated through trade. Rhysand vaguely remembered that the self-igniting lights in Velaris came from the Autumn Court. It did make sense since the royal family’s power was the generation of fire and lightning. 

Beron spoke flowery words to Amarantha, sucking up to her as his whole court did for the past forty-nine years. Rhysand couldn’t stand the Autumn Court. No matter what he put himself through, it would only do the bare minimum of keeping the Night Court ‘safe.’ Amarantha despised the Night Court for it was under the Night Court’s banner that the human general who had killed her sister, Jurian, fought.

_“Rhiannon, High Lady of Night Court, and her uncle, Prince Keir, Steward of the Hewn City.”_

Rhysand dug his fingernails deeper into his palms to keep himself from looking too happy. No doubt Amarantha would find pleasure in sending him away to do something for her if he looked too happy. 

Beron and his family were moving away from the base of the high table, the child, Leila, animatedly talking to her father about something.

_Only they would bring a child here._

Rhiannon and Keir approached the high table, both giving an elaborate bow. Rhiannon spared him a small smile, her pupils twinkling a glowing white in honor of the Singing Moon. 

“High Queen,” Rhiannon said monotonously, “We bring you one-ninth of our harvest and the remaining of what we owe you in perfumes and spices.” 

A train of servants followed Rhiannon and Keir, carrying depthless boxes that held their tribute. 

“Have them stored in the other room along with everything else being shipped to Hybern,” Amarantha said dismissively. 

Keir gestured for the servants to go where Beron’s servants had gone earlier. 

“Enjoy the celebration, Rhiannon.” 

Rhiannon and Keir both bowed slightly and turned towards the rest of the great hall. 

Rhysand picked at the skin on the tips of his nails, waiting to be let go. Across the great hall, his sister was talking to Beron’s niece, Leila, who seemed to have strayed away from the rest of her family. Rhiannon laughed at something the child said before her head turned to the hall’s entrance. 

_“Mora, second-in-command to Queen Amarantha.”_

Mora was dressed in silver-colored armor which bore the sigil of Hybern, a golden lioness, on the front. 

Fifteen years ago, Mora had been found in the woods on a full moon. Amarantha’s soldiers were known to patrol the woods near the wall in animal forms, killing the members of the Spring Court sacrificed that night before any human girl could get to them. That night, one of Amarantha’s soldiers had gotten injured by a hunter’s iron trap and Mora had made a bargain with him to heal him if he promised to take Mora to Prythian and always protect her from any dangers the Folk might pose. Out of desperation, the soldier had agreed. When Amarantha heard the story, she laughed and executed the soldier immediately for having his hand forced by a human. Amarantha had given Mora the soldier’s position, most likely for a laugh, but Mora ended up earning Amarantha’s favor (the only human to ever do so) and rising to the rank of second command. For all Amarantha spoke of hating humans, Mora was the one being in all of Prythian that Amarantha had an inkling of respect for. 

Mora bowed at the base of the high table. 

“My Queen,” she said. She looked at Rhysand briefly and flashed her teeth in an expression resembling a smile. Mora had not aged a single day since she had arrived in Prythian. If anything, she had begun to look younger. Her bright green eyes became brighter by the year and her skin lost more color by the day. Her hair was pitch black when he could have sworn it was dark brown at her arrival. Rhysand was not sure if it was Amarantha’s magic or something else.

_It’s unsettling, whatever it is._

“Commander Mora,” Amarantha smiled. “You look like you have something urgent to say.”

“It’s regarding the High Lord of the Spring Court’s curse.” 

For a brief second Amarantha’s eyes glowed with all the powers she had stolen. At first Rhysand thought she was angry, but then he realized she was panicked. 

“Rhysand, you are dismissed.” 

Rhysand bowed and left to find his sister. As curious as he was about what happened regarding Tamlin’s curse, he was sure he would find out eventually if it was important. He would never willingly spend a moment with Amarantha. 

His sister was where he had last seen her with the child. 

“Rhia.” 

Rhiannon turned to face him, her face brightening.

“Rhys!”

“We should probably talk somewhere else,” he said, sparing a glance at Amarantha, who was now sitting next to Mora, deep in conversation.

“What about me? Rhiannon is _my_ friend.”

Rhysand looked down at the child, who he remembered to be about six, Leila. She had light brown skin like most of the high fae in the Autumn Court and the classic golden Vanserra eyes. Unlike the rest of the Vanserras, her hair was dark brown, most likely from her mother’s side. 

“Well, Rhiannon is my sister.” 

Leila opened her mouth to talk again, tiny sparks coming out of her tiny fists, but was calmed down with a hand on her shoulder. 

Rhysand looked up to see Eris, who bowed slightly to Rhiannon. 

“Lady Rhiannon. Rhysand,” he said smiling coldy, “I was looking for her.”

“But I was talking to Rhian-” 

“Let _Lady_ Rhiannon speak to her brother,” Eris said, picking her up. 

“But Eris-” 

“You’re not supposed to wander off,” he said, almost like a proper older cousin.

“Fine,” Leila pouted, “But only I’ll only come with you if you buy me something when we get home.” 

“Fine.”

After Eris left, Rhiannon and Rhysand disappeared into an abandoned rocky hall, away from the great hall. 

“That was one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen,” Rhiannon murmured. “Who knew that bastard could care for anyone. Could you imagine if he and Mor had actually gotten married?” 

Rhysand snorted. 

“That marriage wouldn’t have even lasted a single month.”

Rhiannon laughed, her silver eyes sparkling under the dim lanterns lined across the walls. Once, he and Rhia had looked like mirror images of each other. Same silver eyes and shadowy hair. Same bloodless brown skin and raven-feather wings they kept tucked away most of the time. 

Then she became High Lady. Becoming High Lady made her skin more shiny, and her pupils change from white to black with the phases of the moon. When her wings were out, the black feathers cast starlight shadows. Like most of the high lords, Rhiannon wore a glamour to conceal her true form, but a glamour could only do so much. Despite being thirty-five years younger than Rhysand, Rhiannon had been more powerful than him and more well suited to rule a court. 

“How are you doing?”

“Would you really like me to tell you, Rhia?” 

Rhiannon flashed him a look.

“Rhys, are you sleeping with her?” she asked abruptly.

“Who told you that?” Rhysand asked as neutrally as he could, starting to pick at the skin above his nails. 

“Is it true?”

His silence was answer enough for her. 

_If only we could lie._

“How long?”

“Sporadically, for about a decade now,” he responded, smiling sorely. 

“ _What?_ How did I just now hear about this?” she demanded. Her true form started to seep through the glamour, the energy causing the lanterns around the hall to flicker and her skirts to blow in non-existent wind. 

“One member from the six courts has been staying here for forty-nine years and the only people who leave with some semblance of freedom are Keiran and Eris, who switch out who stays here, and Tamlin who comes here once a year,” Rhysand replied flatly, “People who only see their families four times a year probably wouldn’t waste time spreading useless rumors.” 

“A messenger from the Dawn Court came under Amarantha’s banner and told me when he came to the Night Court to tell me that you killed a Dawn Court messenger at Amarantha’s order,” she snapped, “You killed a messenger, a grievous violation of the laws of hospitality! And you’re also sleeping with that _bitch_! Where is your pride? And don’t tell me you’re doing what you must, even that boot-licking fool, Beron, doesn’t do this much.” 

“Rhia, what do you think happened to the courts who don’t constantly try please Amarantha?”

“They maintain their pride.” 

“That may be so,” Rhysand said softly, thinking of the monsters of sorrow that haunted the decimated university town in the Summer Court after Tarquin had refused to tithe on the Summer Solstice, two years ago. The way that Amarantha had released the powers of the high lords of Winter and Autumn upon the city, destroying it, only at the price of light fatigue later, “But that is the only thing they are left with. I tell you little of what I see in the other courts in what little time we have together because I assume that Azriel tells you everything...”

The rulers of the courts were not allowed to leave their courts unless it was a solstice or an equinox, but they also weren’t allowed to be the one from the courts’ royal families that Amarantha 

“I did not want to cause you worry, Rhys, but Azriel has not been able to give me information on the other courts for decades, now.” 

“What, _why_?” 

Rhiannon’s glamour had gotten back under control, the rocky hallway returned to its usual calm state, only darker, as if to reflect the dread Rhysand felt. 

“With my powers stolen, I cannot maintain control over the Night Court,” Rhiannon whispered, “The Illyrian warlords fight amongst each other, each trying to control the others. The Eastern most Illyrian lands have been conquered by a faction of rebels in the Hewn City that arose seven years ago, led by Mor’s maternal cousin, Jordyn. That faction backs another neighboring Illyrian tribe. And with the mess in the Hewn city and Illyrian lands, all our taxes come from the other cities, who, by the way, are not happy to be paying more taxes. Not to mention Hybern’s filthy monsters that terrorize the farming lands…” 

Rhiannon shook her head and laughed bitterly. “Essentially, Azriel’s efforts have been focused on the Night Court. I’d rather have him put effort into helping me preserve order than know how terrible the other courts are doing.”

Rhysand was unable to speak. Despite everything that he had tried to do to keep the Night Court from being subject to Amarantha’s wrath, it was still falling apart. 

_It could be worse. At least Amarantha doesn’t send her soldiers there._

“Are the other courts truly worse?” 

“Yes,” Rhysand said hoarsely, “Summer and Winter both rebelled multiple times over the last few decades. They are in the worst condition. Dawn and Day have been neutral in Amarantha’s favor, but they still have Hybern soldiers crawlings everywhere. Only Autumn and Night are in high favor. Autumn has the most powerful weapons which they give to Hybern and Night…”

“The part of me that’s your sister and not High Lady would rather rebel and end up like Summer and Winter than let you rot down here.” 

A selfish part of Rhysand wanted her to raise the banners of the broken Night Court against Amarantha so he could finally go home, regardless of the people who died. 

He quickly brushed away the thought remembering that if he returned, there would be nothing left to love.

“But you are more than my sister,” Rhysand smiled wryly, “You are the High Lady of the Night Court. If you were to rebel, you would most likely die without your powers, and that would make me the High Lord.” 

_And then everything would truly fall apart._

“You would definitely be a high lord worthy of the history books,” Rhiannon muttered, a little light returning to her eyes.

“We have obviously hidden a lot from each other these past decades, but you always spoke of Velaris, so I assume all is well there?”

“Velaris is the only thing that is well,” Rhiannon confirmed, “I suppose it’s because I shielded it as the power drained from my body that night when I drank the cursed wine.” 

“How fortunate are we that Tamlin was the only one who didn’t drink the wine that night? Now he is the only one with a free court and the only one that can possibly save us now.” 

“The Spring Court isn’t in the best condition to rally its banners. They all turn to animals during the day and the common Folk spend their nights reveling. Using magic anywhere near the forests there attracts all sorts of monsters that Amarantha allowed to roam, forcing even the high fae to travel by horse or foot if need be,” Rhiannon said, “Besides, Tamlin was cursed three days following the vernal equinox, which leaves only six months and three days for him to break the curse.” 

Rhysand blinked in surprise.

“How do you know so much about the condition of the Spring Court? That’s the only court Amarantha hasn’t taken me to since Tamlin’s curse.”

“Lucien sends letters every so often asking about the state of the Night Court, and detailing the condition of the Spring Court as well. He sends them to most of the courts, I believe.” 

“Communication between the courts under Amarantha’s watch has been virtually impossible, and Lucien, the one who got everyone into this mess by not being able to keep his fucking mouth shut, is managing?” 

“I’ve honestly got no clue how, but all I’ve gathered from his letters is that Tamlin has to break the curse for any hope of freedom.”

“Splendid. All of our fates depend on Tamlin’s ability to flirt with girls.” 

“It’s not very promising when you say it like that.” 

“I suppose there could be some hope,” Rhysand admitted, “Amarantha’s human commander said that there was news regarding Tamlin’s curse but she sent me away before I could hear whether it was good news or bad news.” 

“I suppose we will all find out eventually,” Rhiannon said, looking in the direction of the Great Hall. “We should return to the Great Hall. We have been gone for sometime, and midnight is approaching.” 

Rhysand nodded, though he was not particularly eager to return. 

They slipped in unnoticed, as Amarantha was still speaking to Commander Mora. The rest of the royal families had arrived. Some were eating and others were doing an assortment of things. A faerie boy with golden horns and golden hair from the Dawn Court who tormented a hobgoblin for glamouring food to look like rot, caught Rhysand’s eye. 

He stayed next to his sister while she went around to make small talk with people. He joined in when appropriate. Rhiannon no longer pried into what he had done over the decades Under the Mountain. Though Rhysand vaguely wondered if a part of her was still disappointed in him. The words of an Illyrian girl who Rhysand had a relationship with as a teenager, centuries ago, rang through his mind. 

_All you do is ruin things, Rhys._

His thoughts were interrupted by Amarantha’s voice. All fell silent when she stood, raised above them all by the dais the high table rested on. Her cracked, blood colored lips were twisted into a sick smile.

“I would like to propose a toast,” she said, her voice ringing through the cavern, clearer than the voice of the announcer, “The High Lord of the Spring Court has found a human girl with hatred in her heart who he hopes can break his curse.”

Amarantha laughed as if to imply that Tamlin coveted the impossible. 

“So a toast to the human girl and heart. A heart that will be broken, figuratively or otherwise, regardless of the outcome of Tamlin’s efforts.”

All those in the room who held a glass drank and resumed their conversation, albeit with a more nervous tone than before.

_No one is sure what to think._

“She speaks of our doom as fact, as if it was in no way an untruth,” Rhiannon whispered to Rhysand, “Perhaps we really are to die her slaves.”

“She merely said that a human girl’s heart will be broken,” Rhysand replied, “She assumes that Tamlin will either make her fall in love with him and not return her affections, or he will fail to make her fall in love all together, in which case, the human girl will likely die, literally making her heart a broken organ.”

“Do you believe Tamlin will succeed?”

“Whether he succeeds or not, the chance of him freeing us is slim. If he succeeds in breaking the curse, it is likely Amarantha will call on the King of Hybern’s armies to conquer Prythian in totality.”

“That’s quite grim.”

“As all things are,” Rhysand said idly. He knew better than to hope. He looked at Leila who was trying to get the glamoured human orchestra to speak to her. It was a hopeless task, but she kept poking and screaming nevertheless. For some reason, the childishness of the act made Rhysand a little less grim. “But you never know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, keeping Rhysand’s sister alive is a huge change even though it’s supposed to be a rewrite, but when I was planning this story, it just made sense to include it. Details about what’s coming up next are in the chapter summary. Also for clarification, Mora doesn’t know it’s Feyre that was taken by Tamlin.
> 
> One thing that should be noted about faeries aging: for the high fae, they age like regular humans until the age of 25 and after that they stop aging. Their life spans generally range from 1100-1300 years, and when they grow old, their age becomes apparent in other ways (not the traditional human ways, like wrinkles and such). Thought I’d throw that out there since a High Fae child appeared in this chapter (it’ll probably be explained again in a Feyre chapter in the future). 
> 
> I also keep mentioning ‘high tables’ (in this chapter and the last) and I may not be using the proper word, but think where the Starks sat in the Winterfell Great Hall in Game of Thrones during dinner with the king. Like fancy tables on a dais. 
> 
> One more quick thing, in case anyone was curious, a Nasna is a monster from A Thousand and One Arabian Nights. The Night Court will be somewhat based off the Middle East, with the exception of the names, which will be European for the most part (I don’t want to change the names of the characters in a rewrite and it would be a little off to give names from a different linguistic roots to OCs that are a part of the same family/court as cannon characters, such as Rhiannon. Plus, Rhiannon means ‘great queen’ so I thought it was a nice name). 
> 
> Next chapter will take some time to write since it covers a span of three months (longer than a regular long chapter since after January, I get really busy). Good lord, these Author’s notes are getting longer and longer.


	6. Feyre III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Spring Court, from the end of Feyre’s last chapter up to the end of the Winter Solstice.

_“Where you tend a rose, my lad, a thistle cannot grow.”_

  
_-The Secret Garden,_ Francis Godgson Burnett

* * *

For the first couple of weeks of her stay in Prythian, Feyre had spent most of her time painting, or wandering around the palace. It had been quite boring since everyone seemed to be awake during the night and asleep during the day, so most of Feyre’s meals were delivered to her room by magic. She should have been quite content with the luxurious rooms and the consistent meals and the expensive paint supplies, but the solitude began to drive her insane, so Feyre took it upon herself to adjust to the sleep schedule followed by the faeries. She harbored no fondness for them, of course, but even their company was better than none. 

The first morning when she had risen at sunset, Alis came to her rooms instead of her breakfast. 

“Good evening, human.” 

Feyre looked up from the box of clothing she was rummaging through, surprised. 

“How did you know I would be awake today?” 

“The same way the meals appear when you need to eat and the temperature of the bath adjusts to what you would like,” she said, looking at Feyre as if someone may look at a particularly idiotic child. “Since you did wake at the usual hour today, you are welcome to join Lord Tamlin in the dining hall.” 

_Again?_ Feyre had thought it was a one time thing. _Why would a faerie lord want to dine with a human?_ Out of lingering curiosity as to why she was being treated as an honored guest, Feyre accepted the invitation to the meal. 

She wore a long silvery dress with a brown leather belt held together by golden, antler-shaped clasp, to Alis’ approval. 

“Two weeks here, and your dressing sense has already improved,” she commented while doing Feyre’s hair. 

Feyre shrugged. _Why dress plainly in a land of enchantment and splendor?_ she thought, thinking of her mother’s stories. She hated faeries, for all their history with humans and for the fact that they may have taken her mother away from her, but even she was not immune to the appeal of a magical palace in a land of eternal spring. 

Alis did Feyre’s hair in a waterfall braid. Though it was a pretty style, it seemed to be such a human thing. The texture of her hair had improved immensely in only two weeks, the dry tresses regaining a long-lost luster. Feyre was led through the halls that were becoming increasing familiar to her to the dining hall. The halls were so much more beautiful in the day, the sunlight streamed through the windows in beams making the floors sparkle. The splendor remained after sunset, but it was clear that the palace was built for the light of day. 

The dining hall was a shadow of what it had been the first day of Feyre’s arrival. The long tables once covered with rich, exotic dishes were now bare. Feyre around the hall, observing it more closely than she had the first time. It was one of the few rooms in the manor that Feyre had not explored. The chandelier was crystalline, beautiful, but something any human king could have. However, the light coming from it was not candle light. She had not seen anything like it before, even in the other rooms of the palace, which used gas lamps and candles. It was almost like lightning had been trapped within the crystals. She recalled catching fireflies in glass jars as a child and vaguely wondered if faeries children did the same, but with lightning instead. 

Tamlin sat in the same place he had the first time Feyre had dined with him. Although this time, Lucien was not with him. Feyre sat down awkwardly in her chair, toying with her food for a bit. 

“I have not seen you in some time, Feyre,” the faerie lord finally spoke, his voice soft as a springtime breeze. He was dressed casually, not even as extravagant as a wealthy human merchant, silky blonde hair loose. 

“I- I was adjusting to the new timings.” 

It was mostly the truth. She could have adjusted faster, but she wanted to avoid speaking to them for as long as she could. The history the humans had with Prythian had kept her away for two weeks, but the solitude had caught up with her. _Or mother’s stories._

“For two weeks?” He asked wryly. 

Feyre kept quiet not knowing what to say. The silence continued, causing Feyre to shift uncomfortably in her seat. For all the faerie eloquence she’d heard of, this one sure couldn’t hold a conversation. She decided to break the silence herself by asking the one question she had. The main reason she had joined him. 

“Why are you being so kind?”

Tamlin looked somewhat startled, most likely at her bluntness. 

“Did you expect to be rotting in a cell for the rest of your life?” 

“Yes?” 

He chuckled softly at that. 

“You _are_ aware that humans live in the Spring Court alongside faeries?”

It was Feyre’s turn to be surprised. She had heard stories of faeries kidnapping humans. She had heard whispers of her own mother being taken by them. She also heard the occasional tale of a human faerie fanatic finding their own way to Prythian by going around the wall somehow, but she had assumed they had all suffered horrible fates. She had never considered that they lived alongside faeries peacefully.

“I did not know that.” 

“You will likely run into one at some point.” 

“That would be nice,” Feyre admitted. It truly would be nice. Someone who could explain the workings of Prythian from a human perspective and tell her not to be killed. 

“So, you like to paint?”  
  


“Are you always so bad at small talk?” 

His lips twitched slightly at that. “I suppose, yes.” 

“You’re only avoiding my initial question,” she accused, “Why are you being so kind?”

“I don’t want to tell you.”

“Why?” Feyre scowled.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you, human.”

“That was a rather quick change of tone,” she snapped at him. Maybe she shouldn’t have been snapping at a faerie lord, but she doubted he would do anything. He hadn’t killed her yet, so he probably had no intention to. 

“You’re awfully bold for a human.” 

“So I’ve been told,” she said idly. 

_What am I doing?_ She often wondered what she was doing. Her mouth had always moved faster than her head. Her family always told her it would get her in trouble, and they were right, of course. It had gotten her in trouble with authority figures sometimes, but it had always been quite amusing. Never fatal. Not like what she was doing now. 

“Where is Lucien, your friend with pollen allergies?” she asked quickly, aiming to change the topic. 

“The Winter Court,” Tamlin said, poking his food. 

Feyre rose in her chair slightly. 

“The Winter Court?”

“Yes, the Winter Court, _Feyre._ ” He said her name as if it was an insult. “Did you mishear?”

“Why is he in the Winter Court?” she asked, ignoring his tone. She was eager to find out anything she could about her strange predicament. 

“Official business. Why do you ask so many questions?”

“You would too in my situation.” 

“Fair enough.” 

Tamlin waved a hand, their empty plates disappearing.

No matter how many times she saw magic, it would always amaze her. She hated the fact that they had magic when she didn’t. That the gods gave magic to creatures so vile. _Or maybe it was the magic that made them vile._

“Would you like to go riding, huntress?” 

Feyre blinked.

“What?” 

“I asked if you would like to go riding,” Tamlin said again, smiling slightly. The hues of his rich green eyes danced in the glow of the lightning-chandelier, reminding Feyre of his inhuman nature, despite the attempts at polite conversation. “Must I keep repeating myself?”

“I’m not sure of the customs in Prythian, but in most of the human kingdoms, that would suggest you were romantically interested in me.” 

That wasn’t necessarily true, of course. Friends and siblings went riding together all the time, at least among the wealthier circles. 

“Don’t flatter yourself. Call it boredom.”

“Unfortunately, I have to reject your advances, I am not interested in you romantically,” she said, reminding herself that he had essentially kidnapped her, and couldn’t be trusted.

“You and Lucien are going to get along splendidly,” he muttered. 

Feyre stood next to him awkwardly, waiting for some kind of sign that she could return to her rooms. He was a good bit taller than her, standing at a little over six feet, while she stood at a little less than five-and-a-half feet. 

However, instead of leaving her to do whatever faerie lords did, he asked her if she would prefer the library instead.

She blinked, even more confused than before. What exactly was he trying to do? 

“I-” she hesitated, wondering whether or not she should tell him she couldn’t read properly. Tutors had tried to teach her when she was younger, but the letters would always swim around the page. Before her father could fire any teachers who could teach her how to read, her family fell into poverty. She could write her name and read a little bit, but she would never read full books. “I don’t enjoy reading all that much, but very well.” 

Tamlin led her to the library, and despite the rather friendly conversation they had shared during breakfast, a sense of dread filled Feyre. He had told her on her very first day that being shown hospitality didn’t mean she wouldn’t be killed. Was he alluding to what would happen to her? 

The library doors were large, wooden double doors. They were worn so that whatever carvings they once had were long since faded. The library itself was lovely. It was the size of a university library, but much more grand. Nesta could have spent days locked in it. 

“Think about a book you like, and it will appear to you, should the library have it.” 

Tamlin was not facing her. He was looking around as if he had never seen the library. Maybe it had been years. He summoned a book to himself, an old leather book with handwritten pages instead of printed ones. 

_Shit, what books do I know?_ Feyre though. She didn’t want to let him know she couldn’t read. She knew many stories from her mother and Nesta and plays she had watched based off of books. _I wonder if thinking about a story would make the book appear._ She thought of a faerie story her mother had told her was recorded long before the seven courts of Prythian. It was more famous in the Eastern lands than in her kingdom, but the library most likely had it. 

She visualized the plays she had seen on it and her mother and Nesta telling the story. It was about a prince who was born only to defeat a demon king. He was exiled to the forest by his own step-mother and in his last year of exile, his wife was kidnapped by the demon king he was born to kill. She felt the book appear in her hands. It was heavy, but when she flipped through it, she realized had enough pictures that she could figure out what was going on in the different chapters. 

“That story took place in what we now call the Autumn Court and the island of Hybern. They weren’t called that back then, of course,” Tamlin said, “Though the story itself was written in the Day Court.” 

“There are no faeries in this book though,” Feyre said, frowning. Faeries really were self-obsessed fools, “They are all humans.” 

Tamlin shrugged. 

“They say that back then, even humans were capable of living for more than a thousand years and that High Fae are descendants of those humans and demigods.” 

_That’s likely some bullshit the High Fae came up with to feel good about themselves._

He seemed to sense her thoughts and smile a bit. 

_Why is he being so kind?_

“The library is lovely, but what would you like me to do here? I already told you I wasn’t much of a reader.” 

“Then, what would you like to do, Feyre?” 

_I should have agreed to the ride, it would likely be less stressful than this._

Thankfully, she was saved from responding by Alis. 

“My lord,” she said, abruptly pushing in the library doors, “Lucien told me to let you know that he has returned from the Winter Court.” 

“Let him know to meet me in the office,” Tamlin nodded, “I would like to speak to him immediately.” 

He turned to Feyre. 

“I must leave now, but you may do as you wish. The midnight meal will be offered at midnight and the last meal will be offered two hours before dawn. You are welcome to join, if you wish.” 

Tamlin and Alis left, leaving her alone at the library. 

* * *

She spent the rest of the day in the library, which had much more than just books. The other end of the library was covered in maps of all sorts of places. The maps had few enough words that Feyre could read them without getting a headache. She had looked at the map of the Spring Court first, in effort to figure out where she was. She had determined that she was near the capital city of Osraige based on the distance they were from the wall, but she could have been wrong about the distance since travel by faerie horses seemed to be much faster than travel by regular horses. Even if she was correct about being near Osraige, there were no palaces marked on the map. The next map she looked at was the complete map of Prythian. The Spring Court was obviously the southernmost court, being closest to the wall, and above it were Autumn, Summer, Winter, Dawn, Day, and Night, respectively. The Night Court was the largest, but covered in mountains, except for one large city-state in the center. The only mountain range not in the Night Court was the one between Autumn and Summer. There were maps of the human lands too: the six human kingdoms, the Eastern continent, where faerie kingdoms only existed between the fabrics of the human world, and some of the northern countries too.

_I would love to see all those places one day._ At home, she thought she never would, but now she wasn’t so sure. Anything could happen. 

After becoming bored of the maps, she looked through some books on drawing and some books with familiar stories that had enough pictures and few enough words that she could figure out what was happening. Though the library was a nice change from wandering the halls and painting, the longer she spent in it, the more lonely she became. She wished her sisters or even her father was with her. When she had left them, she had not fully processed that it could have been the very last time she saw them. It was unlikely, of course, since she had decades left to live and it would be horrible if she was stuck in the manor forever. No one could be that cruel.

_Cruel or not, your human life is nothing to a faerie lord,_ a voice in her head said, _it would be nothing to him to keep you here forever, if only to spite you for killing his friend._

She tried to keep the thoughts away by sketching on a scrap sheet of paper with some graphite she found. Absorbed deep in thought, she had forgotten to keep track of time. When Alis came for her, it was a few hours before sunrise. 

“There you are.”

Her voice made Feyre jump slightly. 

“Your lunch is sitting cold in your bedroom, and fortunately or unfortunately, it is my job to take care of you, so you will be eating now, either in the dining hall or in your room.” 

“Uhm okay. I’ll eat in the dining hall, I suppose.”

Anything to not be alone. 

“You can find your own way, I assume,” she said, turning to leave, going down the hallway leading the opposite direction from the dining hall. 

The dining hall was once again extremely crowded. Not so much as the first day, but crowded nevertheless. Tamlin was not at his usual table. In fact, he was not there at all. Lucien, however, was at the table talking to a tall, high fae looking woman with dark skin and curly dark hair. She left as soon as she saw Feyre, giving her a sneer. 

Feyre blinked, a bit taken back. No one had ever looked at her with such disgust before. 

“Where is Tamlin?” she asked Lucien, sitting down in her usual seat.

“Hunting,” he responded, curtly. He seemed even less inclined to speak to her than he had been in the beginning. “You know, that was Andras’ sister.” 

_Oh._

“Do you feel any remorse for what you did?”

Did she feel remorse? She hadn’t really thought about the moral implications of killing someone. Someone with friends and family, just like she did. She had only thought of him as a monster in a moment. She had always subconsciously considered faeries to be closer to monsters than to humans, but that didn’t make any sense. Yes, history showed them as monsters, but there were faeries who fought with the humans, and there were stories of them falling in love and doing other very human things. Feyre supposed that she should have felt remorse, but for some reason, she did not. 

“I didn’t know,” she said, not knowing what else to say. 

“That doesn’t make it much better, but what are we to do now?” He took a bite of bread. “How are you liking Prythian?” 

“I’ve only seen the palace, but it’s nice.”  
  
“Tamlin didn’t take you riding?”

_Why does he know about that?_

“Uh he offered, but I declined. We went to the library instead?”

“So you prefer staying indoors?”

“No, actually, I just…” she trailed off. He clearly did not like her very much, yet he was being nice enough. “Why is everyone here being so nice to me? You clearly hate me. Tamlin should hate me but he was being so _kind_.” 

“Calm down, human. Did you expect us to kill you? We are not as monstrous as your history books make us out to be.” 

“There are entire cities that were decimated in the war.” 

“That’s war. Everyone is monstrous in war, humans too.” 

“But that doesn’t explain why everyone is being so kind. I was brought here because I _killed_ one of you.” 

“There are things we can’t tell you, _Feyre_.” 

“That’s extremely similar to what Tamlin told me. What is going on?” 

“I’m not sure how much I can tell you without ruining things, but there is an all-knowing creature who can.” He looked to the dining hall door before continuing. “It is called the Suriel in the Spring Court, but the other courts have other names for it. Ride into the forest at midnight and set a trap for it using jewels and freshly cooked food. Once you trap it, it will answer three of your questions. ”

_Finally, something that resembles an answer._

“Is it dangerous?”

“Of course it’s dangerous,” he smirked, “In fact, some believe that the Suriel has been known to kill those who bring unsatisfactory gifts.” 

“ _What?”_

“You don’t need to worry though. The food and jewels in this palace will undoubtedly satisfy it. The real danger is the other creatures that lurk in the woods.” 

“How do I protect myself?” 

“You don’t,” he shrugged, “But I will wait outside the woods, so yell if you need to. 

“Why should I trust you to help me?”

“You shouldn’t, but you want answers, do you not?”

* * *

Feyre was aware that it was foolish to listen to Lucien, but she needed to know what exactly was happening. It wasn’t normal for a murderer to be treated like an honored guest. And it was not normal for everything to be so deserted during the daylight hours. She initially tried to talk herself out of trapping the Suriel, but the more thought she gave the idea, the more she was convinced. 

She had opted to eat breakfast in her room, but it occurred as she was gathering apples and diamond necklaces that she had no clue where the stables were and that she probably should’ve gone to the dining hall to speak to Lucien. After gathering what she needed, she went to find Lucien, hoping he was still there. On the way to the dining hall, she ran into Alis.

“Alis, do you know where Lucien is?”

Alis gave her a strange look, but responded anyways.

“In his house, most likely. Exit the building through the back of the art room and walk straight until you come to the next building.” 

“Thank you, Alis.” 

Feyre went to the art room, where she had spent most of her time since she had arrived here. It was quite messy from overuse and lack of professional skill on her part, but what did it matter? 

She knew what building Alis was talking about. She had passed it the few times she decided to take a short walk outside. It was average in size, maybe twice the size of her family’s home but it was much finer. The exterior was a simple white and red, but the pillars holding up the porch were made of stone rather than wood, and covered in carvings. She knocked on the door, hoping Lucien was there. 

“Lucien! Open the door!” 

The door clicked open. 

“What do you want?” he hissed.

“Where are the stables? And where exactly in the forest am I supposed to enter?” 

“You could have asked anyone where the stables are, why are you bothering me?”

“You said you’d help!” 

“I meant that I would be near the forest around that time, not that I would babysit you.”

“Fine, but where are the stables?” 

“Keep walking, and take the first left on the path.” 

“Uh, thanks, but don’t you have to come now too? I’m going now.” 

“I’ll be there soon, but I’m rather occupied right now.”

“With what?”

Instead of answering her question, he shut the door in her face. 

_How kind._

* * *

Feyre hadn’t ridden a horse in years, but it was not the sort of thing you forgot how to do completely. Faerie horses were a bit different of course, with their strange colors and misshapen bone structure, like that of a children’s drawing. At least the horse she had chosen didn’t talk. 

She did go as slowly as she could though, especially because it was dark outside. _Darker than usual._ The sky was overcast, no stars visible and moonlight barely shining through the clouds. The air was heavy with water vapor, making Feyre’s hair frizz. She remembered the way out of the palace grounds well enough, so finding the forest wasn’t hard, but the deeper she wandered into the forest, she realized, the harder it would be to find her way out. 

_The forests in the Eastern continent are not like regular forests, for that’s where Eastern faeries build their kingdoms,_ she remembered her mother saying, _If you wandered deep enough you would be in a whole other world._

Out of fear that this forest might be the same way, Feyre stopped her horse and got off. She began setting her trap, using the apples and diamond earrings to lure the Suriel. Once she finished setting the trap, she waited. She didn’t know how long she waited, but the Suriel came suddenly, without even the slightest crunch of leaves or footfalls on the grass. 

“Hello, Feyre Archeron.” 

The Suriel stood behind her, her trap remaining untouched. It was a corpse-like thing, a creature that would haunt the nightmares of children. It stood several feet taller than her, eyes were and skin stretched over its bones. It wore a cloak that seemed to be made of whispers and wind, which Feyre wouldn’t have thought possible, once upon a time. 

“I- I thought I w-was supposed to trap you.” 

“That’s a misconception on the part of the court-bound fae. I help those who need their questions answered and kill those whose only motivation is greed.”

“Ah, okay.” 

It picked up one of the apples Feyre had laid on the ground. 

“Nevertheless, these are lovely offerings. You may ask your question, daughter of Mora and Jack.” 

Feyre thought about phrasing her first question as a command, but even she could tell that the Suriel was ancient. It probably wouldn’t fall for such storybook tricks. So she thought about how to phrase her first question. 

“What is all the information on Tamlin that is relevant to my situation?” 

It was not an eloquently worded question, but it would do. 

  
The Suriel gave Feyre a wide toothless smile that stretched its skin even more than it was already stretched. 

“Your situation with the High Lord of the Spring Court is rather complicated.” 

_High Lord of the Spring Court._

Of course. That means she was likely right about being near Osraige. She ought to have been terrified that she was staying with a High Lord. High Lords were like essentially kings in Prythian, but High Lord or garden faerie, what difference did it make to her? Either one could kill her. The only difference is that the garden faerie would pinch her to death and that the high lord could incinerate her with a thought.

“The Spring Court is cursed to turn to their animalistic forms at daybreak and Tamlin, a beast. The time for Tamlin to break the curse is running out. There is little I can tell you without ruin falling upon the Spring Court and there is little you can do about it other than wait.”

_Cursed._ That cleared some things up. However, the Suriel had said the same thing Lucien had earlier. Telling her things would set them up for ruin. _But what does that mean?_

“What is your next question, Feyre? You only have two more.” 

“I would like to wait.” She may have more pressing questions in the future. Besides, she did not want to ruin anything by knowing more, regardless of how curious she was. “I shall summon you to ask my next questions when the time is right.” 

The Suriel laughed a raspy laugh like that of a human that had managed to live till their tenth decade. Nothing like the way Tamlin had laughed in his beast form when he broke down her door. His laugh made all the trees and the wind itself laugh too. The Suriel’s was plain, but just as unsettling. 

“You are smart, Feyre. I look forward to meeting you again.” 

With those words, the Suriel vanished as swiftly as it had come. 

Feyre turned to mount her horse once more but it was gone. She saw the shape of a horse in the distance. 

_How did it break free of the rope?_

She walked towards the horse slowly, trying to scare it, but when she got close enough she saw a humanoid figure in black armor sitting atop the horse, scythe in its hand. 

_Dullahan._

As soon as she realized, she broke into a run in the other direction, trying to leave the forest. 

“Lucien!” she screamed, hoping he had kept his word and not left her to die. She had the story of the Dullahan before. They were riders on black horses who only had to mutter the name of their victim for them to die. Maybe the Dullahan had heard her name when the Suriel was speaking. Running as fast as she could, Feyre prayed. Most humans in her kingdom didn’t keep specific gods, but most prayed in times of need anyways. So she didn’t know exactly who she was praying to, but she only hoped someone was listening. 

She looked behind her to see if the Dullahan was still there, and it was. While looking behind her, Feyre tripped, falling face first into the grass. She got up as quickly as she could and continued running, blood dripping down her arm from the fall. “Lucien!” 

It wasn’t Lucien who came for her though, it was Tamlin, in his beast form. 

“Go home, Dullahan,” he commanded. 

“I am bound to no court, High Lord,” the Dullahan rumbled, “I respond only to those who can offer me something, and only _she_ offers me something for the human girl’s death.”

_My death? Who is_ she _?_

“I offer you a fair fight,” Tamlin said, transforming back into his humanoid form and summoning a sword from what seemed to be thin air. “No magic, only weapons. That is what you crave is it not? It is more than what she can offer you.” 

“A good offer, High Lord,” the Dullahan laughed, getting off his horse, “I am inclined to accept.”

Tamlin turned towards Feyre. 

“You and I are going to speak about this later,” he whispered angrily, “But go. Lucien is waiting for you outside the forest.” 

Feyre continued running in the direction she had been before until she saw the clearing. 

Lucien was waiting for her there with two horses. 

“Why the _fuck_ would you ever suggest I do that with something like the Dullahan in the forest?” 

“I did not know about the Dullahan,” Lucien said slowly, “I knew there were monsters but didn’t think sh- monsters at the level of the Dullahan would be out there.” 

“You almost said _she,_ ” Feyre accused, “The Dullahan mentioned a _she_ as well. She’s the one who cursed the Spring Court, isn’t she?” 

“Ah so you know about that.”

“Yes, what did you suppose I would ask the Suriel?” 

“I will not tell you her name or anything more about her. You’ll find out in due time.” 

“Is she the one who took out your eye?” 

Lucien made a face. 

“Yes, now let’s go before Tamlin gets out of there and I have to explain to him why you were there in the first place. Now, _come on.”_

The ride back to the palace was a good bit faster than Feyre’s ride to the forest. She and Lucien didn’t speak much during the ride, except for Lucien telling her that the Dullahan is where the myth about faeries being able to control humans and each other with their true names came from. Very few types of faeries’ power rested in names, but the Dullahan was one of them. 

_That’s one less thing to worry about._

Upon their arrival at the palace, Alis greeted Feyre and escorted her to her rooms wordlessly. There, she freshened up and rested until dinnertime. 

* * *

They had dinner in a private chamber that night, probably so Tamlin didn’t make a scene in front of his court. When Feyre was standing outside the door, Tamlin and Lucien were arguing. Though as soon as she entered the room, their attention turned to her. 

“Ah, there she is,” Tamlin snarled. “I suppose this is your fault for being foolish enough to listen to Lucien.” 

“Well, my advice worked, did it not, Feyre?” 

They were both wearing the same clothes she had seen them in earlier. Lucien looked fine; tired, but clean. Tamlin, however, was covered in blood dried blood and his hair was completely out of order. His forest green eyes seemed to glow with contained wrath. 

“Yes, it did work to a degree,” Feyre said, sitting down in the vacant chair, “The Suriel told me more than what the _High Lord of the Spring Court_ told me.” 

Tamlin groaned while Lucien laughed lightly. 

“Though I still don’t know who _you_ are, Lucien.” 

“Tamlin’s emissary and temporary general,” Lucien responded. 

“Ah but he’s not just that,” Tamlin smirked, “He’s also a _prince._ ” 

“You two are… brothers?” 

“Nope,” Tamlin said, “Lucien is the seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” 

“Not anymore,” Lucien sighed. 

_Not anymore?_ Feyre thought. She didn’t ask, though. She was tired of asking questions. If it was important she would find out. 

“Lovely, but I’m assuming I’m not going to have any more of my questions answered because it will _ruin things._ ” 

“How are you not even the least bit concerned that Tamlin is a high lord?” Lucien inquired. “I would have assumed that humans would have trembled at the idea.” 

“Any faerie can kill me easily,” Feyre shrugged, “The only thing that makes him special is that he can kill me in fancier ways.” 

“That’s one way to put it,” Tamlin laughed. 

“I’m going to take my leave,” Lucien said, giving Tamlin a look, “I have other things to attend to.” 

“Lucien, don’t you-” 

Before Tamlin could finish his sentence, Lucien shut the door to the private chamber. 

“What was that about?” 

“Don’t mind him,” Tamlin sighed. 

“So, Lucien’s the High Lord of the Autumn Court’s son? Why is he in the Spring Court then?” 

“I don’t know if he’d like me to tell you, but as long as you don’t bring it up with him…” Tamlin trailed off before beginning again. “Lucien is High Lord Beron’s youngest son, the youngest of seven, which is quite a lot of children for one of the high fae. From what I remember, he was the favorite as well. Of both his mother and father. Beron and Lady Maya’s favoritism, as you can guess, caused a fair amount of fights between the brothers and their cousins oftentimes took sides. But despite all of that, their entire extended family was quite close, in a very strange way.

“But 200 years ago, Lucien was engaged to the princess, now High Lady, of the Night Court to fix relations broken by a ruined engagement between his eldest brother and the then high lord of night’s niece. They got along well enough, but Lucien was in love with a lesser faerie woman. The daughter of a farmer. He spoke with the royal family of the night court to prevent any ill will, but his father was still furious at the idea of his son marrying a lesser faerie. He… had her executed, privately, for it’s considered a heinous act to kill a woman in such a manner in Autumn, but Lucien… was present for the execution. 

“He was extremely angry at his father after that, so he came here for what he intended to only be a year or two, so he could figure out what to do with his family. However, one of his brothers and two of his cousins came to the border trying to kill him. Lucien avoided the fight at first, but it ended up getting out of hand and he ended up incinerating his brother and I, one of his cousins while the other ran home to tell the high lord. 

“After that incident, it was clear he couldn’t return so I offered him a position here.” 

Feyre blinked. Faerie families were truly messed up. Or maybe it was just royalty in general. The royal families in the human kingdoms certainly had their issues, but she had never heard a story like that. 

“How do you like Prythian now?” Tamlin asked with a wry smile.

“Have you ever been in love?” Feyre asked, trying to divert the rather depressing conversation.

“I’ve had my fair share of relationships, but the farthest I’ve ever come in terms of love in my five-hundred-and-ten years was probably a in my early years when I didn’t really know what it meant.”

_He’s surprisingly open about it._ At home, a question like that would be considered somewhat personal, but she supposed that this wasn’t home. What really surprised Feyre though is that he was five-hundred years old. She had thought him old, but not so old that was alive during the war.

“Have you ever been in love, Feyre?”

“Uhm no, not really,” she shrugged, “There was one boy at home. His name is Isaac and we were good friends but things between us were a combination between physical and platonic. Nothing romantic. But were you truly alive during the war?” 

“Yes, but I was a child, as you might have guessed.” 

“Still, it’s baffling.” 

“I suppose, but it’s less than half way through natural life for our kind.” 

Feyre could not imagine living so long. The age of forty seemed so old to her, much less a thousand years. 

“So how do your powers work?” 

“Well, powers are specific to the courts, with the High Lord, their family, and maybe a few other prominent families having the most powerful magic,” he explained, “In Spring, it’s shapeshifting and growth. In Autumn, it’s energy, which includes fire and lightning. In Summer, it’s water and creation. In Winter, it’s ice and destruction. In Dawn, it is creation and healing. In Day, it is light and fate, which is quite abstract but it refers to seers, curses and such, and Night, there are two different lineages of powers. The High Lord’s lineage has the power to control darkness, dreams, and shadows. The other lineage, which has a distant relation to the High Lord’s lineage, can control time to an extent.” 

“Wow,” Feyre breathed. Much to her dismay, she was starting to see her mother and sisters’ fascination with magic and stories. 

Tamlin smiled. They continued to talk, for what might have been hours. Feyre had lost track of time until the sun began to peak over the horizon. 

“You’re quite fascinating for a human, Feyre,” Tamlin said. “I look forward to spending more time with you, _my lady._ ” 

With that he did something, she did not expect. He kissed her. Feyre had kissed before but not the romantic type of kiss. Nothing like this. 

_What am I doing?_ she thought. She was supposed to hate them. But she could not after talking to Tamlin about so many things for so long. She only ever really hated faeries because people said her mother was taken by them. The stories in the history books only justified that. Maybe she would tell Tamlin about her mother being kidnapped one day or they could find her. 

_Hell, I’m becoming as much of a romantic sap as Nesta and Elain._

“I-”

  
“We can speak in the morning, Feyre.” 

* * *

After that kiss, Feyre and Tamlin began growing closer. They kept it relatively private, but she was certain Lucien knew by some of the comments he made. They stayed apart during the daytime, since that’s when everyone was transformed and asleep, but they spent at least one meal a day together and all the hours from after dinner to daybreak together. Feyre wasn’t quite sure if this is what love was, but she definitely enjoyed Tamlin’s company and he seemed to enjoy hers, despite her being human. 

Months passed in this way, but Feyre barely felt it. She might have missed her sisters, but Tamlin allowed her to write to them and the letters discreetly delivered. Initially, she didn’t mention the romantic aspects of her life but Elain eventually guessed. In addition to writing letters and painting, Tamlin also taught Feyre how to play the violin and use a sword. She was almost decent at the violin since she had lessons for a couple of years when she was younger, but she was pretty terrible with the sword, her only advantage being speed (but she did beat Tamlin in archery contests a couple of times). 

All the questions Feyre had at her arrival eventually faded. She thought about the things regarding her situation which didn’t make much sense from time to time, but she was happy and she decided not to question it. 

Soon enough, her twenty-fourth birthday came around. 

Instead of breakfast at sunset, Tamlin took her to some of the heated springs near the northern border of the Spring Court for a picnic. 

“Will I ever get to see the other courts?” 

“Maybe one day when things are better.” 

_When things are better._ For a time, Feyre had given up on trying to figure out what exactly that meant, but her aching to _know_ was slowly starting to return. 

“Tamlin, you’ve got to tell me what that means at some point.” 

“I will,” he said, putting an arm around her, “One day.” 

“One day that will never come,” she yawned. She gazed up at him, staring in his softly glowing green eyes. He had once told her that the more powerful high fae opted to wear a glamour at most times because if they didn’t, their energies could be sensed by almost anyone, which could be quite bothersome. 

“I can tell no lies, so I assure you, my lady, that one day will come.” 

“Why do you insist on calling me that?” Feyre laughed, “I’m no more of a lady than you are a pauper.” 

“It’s what romantic poets call their loves.”

“What, and you’re a romantic poet?” 

“I could be.” 

“Whatever you like to believe,” she replied, rolling her eyes slightly. “You know, I’ve never seen you without your glamour, Tamlin.”

“Would you like to?”

She nodded eagerly as she had never seen one of the high fae without a glamour, much less a High Lord. 

When Tamlin’s glamour melted away, Feyre was rendered truly speechless. His eyes were the only thing that remained the same, but they had always been inhuman. His golden hair glowed, thorns and thin vines subtly woven in, the tips fading into pure gold dust and his shone with as if sunlight coursed through his veins rather than blood. 

Though, instead of voicing her innermost thoughts, Feyre opted for a less romantic comment. 

“If you glow this much, how much does the High Lord of Day glow?” 

“Too much for anyone’s liking.” 

Feyre laughed, turning her gaze towards the heated springs. 

“Would you like to go in?” Tamlin asked, drawing his glamour back up. 

“Only if you come with me,” she smirked. They hadn’t had sex yet, but maybe they could today. “As a birthday present.” 

“I got you new paint brushes, do you really need more?”

“Are you shy?” she teased, “I would never have expected that of someone centuries old.” 

“I am _not_ shy.” 

“Prove it,” she challenged.

“As you wish, my lady.” 

* * *

Feyre and Tamlin returned to the palace in time for the midnight meal. They shared their meal in the private chamber, sitting in comfortable silence. 

“Tamlin!”

  
  
Lucien abruptly opened the door.

“What’s wrong, Lucien?”

Lucien gave Feyre a look as if it was something she was not supposed to hear. 

“Nightmare,” he began, at which Tamlin blushed ever so slightly, “He killed twenty-four high fae children in the Winter Court in response to the… uprising there.” 

_Nightmare? Twenty-four children?_

Tamlin took a sharp breath. 

“Feyre, I have to speak to Lucien, would you be alright if we finished this tomorrow?” 

“Tamlin, who is Nightmare?”

“Feyre-” 

“You can’t hide _everything_!” 

She left the room, not waiting for his response. He would not tell her, so she would find the answer on her own. 

* * *

At midday, when everyone slept through their curse, Feyre made her way to the brink of the forest where the Tamlin fought the Dullahan. 

“Suriel! I call upon you to answer my second question!” 

She stepped into the forest, just in case that was what she needed to do.

“Hello, Feyre Archeron. What is your second question?”  
  


Feyre turned around swiftly. The Suriel looked odd in broad daylight, like the monster from a children’s book and not an ancient creature. Or at least it would have been that way if it weren’t for the cloak crafted from air and whispers and the timelessness Feyre felt just looking into its eyes. 

“What is all the information I would be interested in regarding the one Tamlin and Lucien call Nightmare?” 

“Nightmare is an old friend of the spring lord.” The Suriel laughed its raspy laugh. “They were a bit more than friends a couple of times as well. Nightmare reluctantly serves the woman Lord Tamlin dares not speak the name of. His name is Rhysand Acamar and he is the brother of the High Lady of the Night Court.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, I’ve been extremely busy. It’s a really long one, but sorry if it’s sort of predictable because of its similarity to canon. This whole story will have its parallels to canon (up until the end of the first book), but this was a little much, I know. I also know I was a bit vague about Tamlin and Feyre’s development, but a few scenes might show up in flashbacks later. There’s also another three months covered in the next chapter, which will likely have some Tamlin backstory. And for a few other things: 
> 
> The characters are intentionally different from the series. Feyre has a similar sense of responsibility that she had in the books, but she’s also a bit more rebellious and fun (and quite a bit older). Tamlin isn’t as broody, especially with Feyre because he’s trying to make her fall in love with him. He thinks he’s not going to return those feelings, but we all know that’s not true. Lucien is still snarky, but his relationship with his family is a bit different, so he’s a bit different (it will become more apparent later). He also initially resents Feyre a bit more than he did in the books. Rhys is also quite different, as seen in the last chapter. 
> 
> That part where Lucien tells Feyre about the Suriel stuff but kind of ditches her and gets Tamlin to help was because he was trying to set them up and give them a bonding experience. I’m pretty sure that happened in the books exactly that way, but I liked it. 
> 
> And I replaced the Nagas attacking Feyre with a Dullahan because first of all, Nagas are from Indian mythology and they aren’t even depicted as monsters. I also didn’t want to use them because I want to use Irish, Scottish and Welsh creatures for the Spring Court. Probably going to use Indian mythology for Autumn court lore (if anyone caught that reference to a popular Hindu epic in the library scene haha), and Arabian mythology for Night (maybe Scandanavian for Winter and Egyptian for Day? Not really sure, plus it’s not relevant rn). Okay anyways, sorry, I’m a mythology buff. 
> 
> I should also address the change in powers for the other courts. Most of the changes are because I thought they would be cool, but the night court’s changes are because I thought full on mind control is insanely overpowered (their mind control is mostly in the form of dream manipulation now). 
> 
> I haven't a clue when I'll be able to write the next chapter, but leave a comment or subscribe if you can, they motivate me to update faster. 
> 
> Next chapter: Will cover from the end of this chapter up to right before the Vernal Equinox in the Spring Court (Calanmai, but I’m getting rid of that weird biting scene).


	7. Author's Note

With A Court of Silver Flames releasing, I'm not sure if I'll be continuing this story. I mainly started this story because I wanted to rewrite ACOTAR with more mythological elements and more diversity. Once I read A Court of Silver Flames, I was sort of amazed to see Sarah J Maas actually do these things! We got more diversity in skin color, more fleshed out culture/world building, more developed characters, and potentially even more representation when it comes to sexuality in upcoming books (cus of Mor). I may start other ACOTAR related works in the future, but I'm not sure if I'll be coming back to this one. Mainly because of the way I planned to characterize Feyre's mother and Beron and how I planned to do the world-building. After reading ACOSF, it just feels weird because of how those two were characterized in canon and I loved canon's new worldbuilding well enough that I don't feel like changing it. I might, however, start a different type of ACOTAR fanfiction where I just write a series of oneshots featuring things that have/could have happened in the characters' past. Things like Rhys & co. in the Illyrian War Camps, Mor's childhood in the Hewn City, Mor and Andromache, Lucien and Jesminda, Helion and the Lady of Autumn, stuff about Rhys and his sister and for those of you who've read ACOSF, Cassian taking revenge for his mother, Nesta's childhood, adventures of the Band Of ExilesTM, Eris' childhood, etc. 

Sorry if that was incoherent, I'm quite tired. If anyone is interested in seeing a fanfiction like I described above, please comment! Oh and, if anyone asks I can put a rough outline of what I had planned for the rest of this installment, chapter by chapter, in the reviews. 


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